


Bound

by eirallina



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Blood and Torture, Brutality, Clarke Griffin & John Murphy Friendship, F/M, Grounder Clarke Griffin, He's also a bit crazy, Heavy Angst, Prophetic Visions, Protective Murphy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-06-06 04:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 59,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6737398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eirallina/pseuds/eirallina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>3 months after the Commander's Truce, Lexa summons the leader of Sky People Bellamy Blake for a peace meeting. But despite the uneventful (and hostile) negotiations, Clarke of the Delphi Clan knows her Commander is planning something sinister and she can't do anything about it. Or can she? Using her reputation as the Commander of Death, a reputation she garnered when she was 14, Clarke makes a decision that will change the lives of the Sky People and hopefully prevent an war prophesized by her mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chosen

**Author's Note:**

> My Trigedasleng is literally non-existent. I got the phrases used below from Google or Trigedasleng translation sources. Additionally, I have also made up some names of places and things. Please bear with me.

    "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

     Clarke opened her eyes, letting the drops of water condensing around her face slowly drip down towards the pool below. Murphy, her second, stood at the edge of the bath tub. He was covered from head to toe in mud and grass and he was breathing very hard like he had rushed here the second he received her summons.  

     "Do I need to gouge your eyes out?" She asked, eyeing the lecherous way he was looking at her naked body underneath the bath water.

     "Relax. No one wants to see those terrifying cuts on you."

Clarke rolled her eyes. 

     "Shut up Murphy. Be a dear and get me a towel." A beat. "Wash your hands first though."

     "As the heda wishes."

     It didn't take long for Murphy to wash his hands of the dirt all over his arms. When he was finished, he came over with a big fluffy towel. Clarke got out of the bath tub, noting the way Murphy lowered his eyes as she did so, and dried herself off before putting on a blue flowing dress over her naked body. 

     "Why have you called for me?" Murphy asked, coming over with boots for her to put on. 

     "Lexa sent for Skaikru to meet with her. They will be here soon. I want you to lead the welcome party."

     "But I haven't heard anything." 

Clarke looked down at her second. 

     "You just heard it from me." 

     A second later, there was a knock on the door. Murphy got up from the floor where he was kneeling and went to get the door so that Clarke can finish putting on her boots. A messenger, garbed in leather, bones, and drenched in rain entered with Murphy's permission and greeted Clarke with a fist thump to his right chest. 

     "What is it?" Clarke asked. 

     "The watch tower spotted a Skaikru envoy from the south approaching Polis." The messenger reported. "The Commander seeks an audience with you, Wanheda, before the envoy gets here." 

     "Very well then." Clarke said. When she caught Murphy's eyes, she raised an eyebrow as if daring him to say something and he in turn scoffed at her for being right in her prediction. "Murphy will prepare Skaikru for an audience with the Commander. I will seek Lexa when I am finished here. You may leave."

     The messenger bowed and exited the room, closing the door behind him. As soon as the door closed, Murphy immediately stripped himself off his clothes and jumped into the bath tub. Clarke glared at the guy splashing water over himself.

     "What would Emori say if I told her I saw you butt naked?" She asked. 

     "She would ask you if you joined me and if you liked it." Murphy retorted just as quickly. Muddy water dripped from his face. “Well do you?”

     "I've seen better," replied Clarke. She grabbed a spare towel hanging from one of the shelves near the wall and began to dry her hair. "Do make Skaikru feel welcome. They've been through a lot." 

     "Please. It's nothing I haven't seen before."

     "I didn't see you bringing down the Mountain."

     "They didn't bring down the Mountain, heda. You did." Clarke lowered her eyes, nodding her head slowly in affirmation. Murphy watched her for a few seconds, his hesitation and reluctance splayed all over his face. A few moments later he said, "Fine. I will treat them with as much respect as I would treat anyone."

     "Which is no respect at all?"

Murphy chuckled.

     "You know me so well."

     Clarke left the conversation end with that. Despite his constant stream of sarcastic retorts, she knew Murphy well enough to know he would listen to her words. He might not treat them as respectfully as he would treat her, but she knew he would treat Skaikru better than anyone else. With that in mind, she left Murphy to focus on unraveling the braids in his brown hair and went to look for the Commander.

     After walking through the labyrinth of halls, Clarke reached the throne room at the top of the Ityra Tower and didn't bother to knock before entering. No torches were lit in the throne room but the moon served as the room's backdrop and illuminated the room aplenty. Six young warriors lined two sides of the throne room, all standing silently as they awaited orders from the woman sitting on the throne. Clarke took a quick glance at the warriors, noting with a hint of wariness that they were young male and female warriors less than 25 years of age, and moved forward towards the dais. When she was about a feet away from the throne, she bent down to one knee and hoisted her gaze up to Lexa.

     After what was known as the Mount Weather debacle, Lexa's influence over the Coalition has begun to weaken. Most believed that their Commander had disgraced Trikru and in turn the Coalition for breaking the alliance with Skaikru in favor of making a deal with the Mountain Men. They thought her weak for not being able to keep her promises and a recreant commander for cowering in fear of the Mountain Men's weapons. It was only because of Clarke's involvement in bringing down the Mountain that gave the Commander some face. If not, the people would have revolted against her already. That's probably why Lexa was seeking Clarke's council now before the Skaikru envoy enters Polis.

     "Get up Clarke," Lexa said, leaning forward in her seat. Despite the casualness of her red and black clothed leather attire, the Commander cut quite a menacing figure with the addition of shoulder guards made out of bone and fur. "You and I have much to discuss."

With Lexa's acknowledgement, Clarke got up from the floor.

     "Is this about Skaikru?" She asked. 

     "Ontari, come forward." A small and average sized warrior with long brown hair stepped forward from Clarke's left side. The scarification tattoos on her face marked her as a member of Azgeda. "Caris, come forward." The tanned blonde haired warrior from Sankru stepped forward from Clarke's right. "What do you think of these two, Clarke?"

Clarke had a feeling she knew where this was going and she did not like it.

     "I'm thinking you can't be serious." She said. She looked back at the warriors lined up behind her and turned to Lexa. "After everything you've done, betraying them like that, Skaikru deserve to be treated better than this."

     "I recognize the warriors they've become Clarke and do not wish to underestimate their power." Lexa retorted. "This is why I sent for them. I've decided to let them join the Coalition. If they can bring down the Mountain for their people, think of what they can do for us if we are one and the same. Do not deny that it's a good move."

     "It is a good move. You know it is. But there is no need for..." Clarke paused, trying to find a right word to describe what was about to take place. "For this. For a political marriage. It is not necessary."

     "It has been done before," Lexa remarked. "If a Commander requires more reassurance from any of the twelve clans, they can and will request for a blood binding if they deem it necessary."

     "You did not request for one when the Coalition first formed." Clarke pointed out.

     "You are right. I did not." Lexa nodded. The calm way she handled Clarke's questions made her wonder if Lexa had already anticipated all of her objections and planned to do it anyway. "But members of the Coalition did not drop from the sky like Skaikru did."

     "Skaikru will not accept it. It is not their way."

     "And how do you know that? If they want to live on the ground peacefully, it will be their way." Lexa got up from the throne and walked down the dais, taking a languid pace around the six warriors lined up before her. "All these warriors are dignitaries for their clans. It will be Skaikru's greatest honor to be married to any of them." 

     "Who?"

     "Bellamy, Octavia, or Wells." 

     "Octavia is spoken for."

     "Then we will see who offers himself first, Bellamy or Wells."

     Clarke watched the Commander pace with wary eyes, jaws clenched. Although Lexa's reasons for introducing Skaikru to the Coalition were all valid and reasonably sound, Clarke couldn't help but be suspicious of her true intentions. The way Lexa eyed the warriors was calculating and predatory, almost reminiscent of vultures circling above carcasses of meat rotting on the ground. But she was under the impression that it wasn't the warriors Lexa was staring at with a predatory glare. It couldn't be.

     Clarke focused her attention to the warriors when Lexa gave no clues as to what she's thinking. Standing rigidly in their specified spots, the warriors had their hands behind their backs and their feet spread. Their chins were held up high and no emotions crossed their faces as Clarke stared at them. If Clarke didn't know any better, they look like they've been given a mission and were only waiting for the Commander's go ahead to carry out their plans. 

     "You're planning on killing Skaikru's leader." Clarke gasped. 

Lexa paused in her pacing for one slight second before continuing her leisure walk. 

     "Perhaps," she admitted.

     "But why?"

     "Do not ask me why, Clarke." Lexa walked back up the dais and sat back down on her throne. "They have weakened my position with the Coalition. People are questioning my command. I cannot have it." 

     "And killing Bellamy is the answer?" Clarke asked exasperatedly. "Since when do you command with emotions rather than expe---?"

     "Since your mother made a prophecy."

     Clarke tensed up at the mention of her mother. Those who knew Abby of the Delphi clan knew her as an esteemed healer and much respected Elder in the clan. Her healing skills had saved many people during several bouts of war and plaque in her forty years of reign. But there were only a handful of people who knew Abby had the Sight, an ability to see far into the future and recognize events for what they will be. As her mother aged, her powers slowly diminished with her and Abby's predictions have been few and far in between. If what Lexa said was true, this will be Abby's first prophecy in five years.

     "Abby, huh?" Clarke breathed out. It's been a while since she last talked about her mother. The last conversation she had about Abby was a tragic one that ended in someone's death because the guy pried a bit too hard into Clarke's history. Since then, Clarke has tried to avoid the topic all together. "What did she say?"

     "A year after Skaikru enters the Coalition, Bellamy will wage war against us and Polis _will_ fall." The utterance of the prophecy chilled Clarke to the bone. Behind her, the warriors who were quiet the entire time shifted their stance in unease. "As much as I hate to kill such a strong respectable warrior, it is the way it must be. He must be taken out and a new leader must take his place. Someone I can easily persuade towards our cause."

     "Wells will not be easily persuaded."

     "No, but I have seen him and he is definitely weaker of mind." Lexa paused. "I know what you're thinking. You must be wondering why I would rather go through this elaborate ruse just to kill Bellamy. You're right, I could just kill him outright and make anyone questioning my command understand that I am the Commander and no one should question me. But... If I graciously invite Skaikru, Mountain Men's executioner, into the Coalition we will grow stronger. With their knowledge of technology and modern medicine, we could advance forward into a new age. We need them in the Coalition."

     "You're acting like Azgeda and it's not becoming of you, Lexa." Clarke said, disregarding Ontari's bristle at the mention of her clan. A glare from Lexa quieted the Azgeda warrior.

     The sound of bells ringing resonated within the walls, signaling Skaikru's arrival into Ityra Tower. Any minute now, the envoy will reach the throne room and Murphy will lead them in. Knowing this, the six warriors nodded their heads to Lexa and went about lighting the place for the arrivals.

     “They are here,” Lexa smiled.

     "I don't care what my mother prophesized. That man leading Skaikru is the only reason why they haven't revolted and killed hundreds of our people with their guns. He's the reason the Mountain fell and our captured people lived to tell the tales. If you kill him, the war my mother prophesized will be here before you can even blink. He does not deserve to die."

     "You do not get to decide who lives and dies, Clarke." Lexa slammed her fist on the arm of the throne and straightened up in her seat, her eyes seething with anger as she looked down at Clarke. The newly lit torches accentuated every burst of anger within her eyes. "I am the Commander." 

 Before Clarke can answer, there was a loud thump on the door. Clarke and Lexa exchanged glances, her silent pleading against the Commander's angry determination.

     "It doesn't make you right," hissed Clarke.

When a second thump against the door sounded, she reluctantly walked up the dais and took her place at Lexa's left side.

     "I don't have to be," Lexa muttered to her. "I just have to lead."

     Clarke clenched her jaws, ignoring Lexa's utterance. Four of the six warriors moved back to linger against the walls of the throne room while the other two went to open the door. Clarke watched as Murphy led a small Skaikru envoy into the throne room. She immediately recognized Bellamy Blake, Lincoln, and Wells. No other Skaikru came with them. It was the wrong move on Skaikru's part, Clarke thought now that she knew the plot to assassinate their leader. Granted, it wouldn’t happen at this very meeting but one can't know for sure. Lexa was temperamental like that. Murphy took one step forward and knelt down on the floor in front of his commander and teacher.

     " _Ai ste shoun of Skaikru_. [May I present Skaikru.]" He said in Trigesdaleng. 

     A handful of representatives of the Coalition entered behind Skaikru, muttering quietly in Trigadasleng. When they saw Clarke watching, they acknowledged her with a deep bow of their heads before continuing on their way. They spread out behind Skaikru's envoy before kneeling in front of their leader the Commander. With a silent nod from Lexa, they stood up.

     "Welcome Sky People," Clarke said after a moment, her voice carrying loudly through the throne room. At the bottom of the dais, Bellamy caught Clarke's eye and he looked so concentrated she wasn't sure if he would do anything to acknowledge her. But then a second later, he gave her a curt nod. Beside him, Wells noticed Bellamy looking and also gave her a slight nod. "Thank you for coming to this meeting. We've been expecting you." 

     "Thank you for inviting us," Wells said diplomatically. "It's been a long journey. I hope it's worth it."      

     "Let's just get straight to the chase." Bellamy stated right after Wells finished talking. "Why have you called for us?"

Leaning forward in her seat, Lexa smiled down on Bellamy and his envoy. 

     "It has been several months since the Commander's Truce. It is time for us to stop looking back to the past and move forward with the future in mind. I want Skaikru to be initiated into the Coalition as our thirteenth clan." 

The muttering of the Coalition's representatives grew louder as Bellamy, Wells, and Lincoln exchanged glances. 

     "Why?" Wells asked warily. 

     "You need us," Lexa said without preamble. "You might have the technology and the weapons from the Mountain, but you and your people lack the necessary skills to survive down here. You do not know the land. You do not know what is safe to eat and what is not and you definitely do not know what monsters lie in the Aeria River. Should you join, the twelve clans can teach you all of these things and more."

     "Sorry if I don't follow _commander_ , but why should we?" Bellamy asked, putting emphasis on the word commander to mock Lexa and her position. If Lexa noticed, she gave no indication. But knowing what she did about Lexa, Clarke was sure Lexa noticed and was planning Bellamy a most tragic and painful death. "You broke the alliance once. What makes you think we will trust you again?"

     "You don't have to trust me," replied Lexa. She flashed Bellamy a dangerous smile. "But think about what happens if Skaikru is the thirteenth clan. If you join, it will strengthen the bond between the clans. It is the reason why I have extended the offer to you. Skaikru will be taken under our wing and be offered safe passage and protection. Any slight against you will be a slight against the Commander herself. No one would dare to take any actions against you."

     "What's in it for the Coalition?"

     "Technology, medicine, weapons." Lexa said nonchalantly. "In exchange for earth skills, safe passage, and protection, we require you to teach our healers and warriors medical and firearm skills. What have you got to lose?"

A pause.  

     "It sounds to me like you're the one who needs us." Wells pointed out. Bellamy subtly nodded his head in agreement. "You ask for medicine and weapons in exchange for what? Useless protection and the right to roam the forest? We can attain those things without your permission."

     "And risk being killed on sight?"

     Skaikru went silent at the threat, remembering all the times they've been attacked without warning because they camped out in unfamiliar territory. Behind them, the members of the Coalition heckled and laughed. Clarke raised her head and glared at the Trikru representative. She believed his name was Jessen. When he noticed her glaring, he immediately stopped laughing. The others fell silent after him. 

     "We require land," Bellamy said after a moment. "In exchange for medicine, weapons, and technology, we require land for expansion, intel on the lands, safe passage, and protection."

     "Then you will receive it. Do we have a deal?"

     "It is a tempting offer," Lincoln glanced at Wells and Bellamy for support. With their silent acknowledgements, he continued speaking. "However, I think Wells and Bellamy will have to discuss it among their people first before making any final decisions. You have my word that you will receive an answer within five days' time. If they accept the offer, a summit can be called and the initiation can take place within a fortnight."

     "Very well. If and when Skaikru agrees to the offer, the Coalition will require a blood binding."

From where she stood, Clarke could see Lincoln visibly tense up. As he should. Arrange marriages almost never happen anymore and to ask for it is a sign of disrespect. Lexa was only doing this because she knew Skaikru would not understand.  

     "What is that, like a blood sacrifice?" Wells asked, looking around at people's reactions. Some of the Coalition members curse in Trigesdaleng. "Lincoln?"

     "It's..." Lincoln frowned, turning to look at Lexa with an array of questions swimming in his eyes. "It's an arranged marriage, usually between the leader of the clan or the leader's second and the Commander's chosen."

      "An arranged marriage?" Wells brushed his hands across his obviously tired face. They have travelled far from home for this meeting without stopping. It was understandable. "Oh you've got to be kidding me."

     "It is usually required for such monumental commitments." Lexa stated, unimpressed with Wells' comment. 

     "Who?" Lincoln asked.

     "I was going to say Octavia but I hear she is spoken for." The disdain in Lexa's words was clear and Lincoln lowered his gaze. After abandoning his clan and chief Indra to help Octavia bring down the Mountain, Lincoln was now considered an outcast with no clan. Lexa meant to shame him and it worked. "So it will have to be either Bellamy or Wells. Who will step up for the Sky People and take their place as a participant of this blood binding?"

     "I will," Bellamy replied without any hesitation.

     "Bellamy, no." Lincoln objected. ""You still have three days to reply if you want to be a part of the Coalition. There is no rush. We can decide later when we get back to Arkadia."

     "You're right, we will decide later if we want to join to the Coalition. But if someone has to enter an arranged marriage, it should be me."

Wells grabbed Bellamy's arm.       

     "You don't have to do this if you don't want to." He said.

     "Then are you willing to leave Gina to marry a Grounder?"  Bellamy asked with a raised eyebrow.

Wells looked like he wanted to say something to rebuke his friend but could not find a reason to.   

     "Who is your chosen, Lexa?" Bellamy asked when no one would speak.

     At the mention of Lexa's chosen, the six warriors that were in the private meeting between Lexa and Clarke stepped forward in unison. Skaikru moved to the side and watched as the warriors reached the front of the dais and knelt down in front of the Commander, their right hand against their left chest in a sign of loyalty. One by one, they introduced themselves and got up as a group when they finished. To say Bellamy and Wells were surprised at the new group of Grounders was an understatement. They both look so surprised and perplexed by the introductions. If Clarke didn't know any better, she thought they were disgusted and fascinated at the same time. She couldn't help but let out a small chuckle.

     "I have yet to choose." Lexa called out loudly to bring Skaikru's attention envoy back to her. "But be rest assured I will choose from the six before me by the time you return with your answer." 

     And when they do answer with affirmation and the blood binding ceremonies begin, Bellamy will be dead and Lexa will have started a war she was trying to prevent. Clarke has no doubts about this. Bellamy of Skaikru may be tough and strong, but any of the warriors can take him down if they get five minutes of alone time with him. Ontari was trained by Queen Nia herself and the Queen's ruthless reputation precedes her. Caris, though young, can slay Skaikru's leader in his sleep even if he kept a gun under his pillow. Knowing what she did, how was Clarke supposed to prevent this imminent war from arriving?

     Yes, it was good that the Commander wants to initiate Skaikru into the Coalition. But she was making a mistake. The death of Bellamy of Skaikru will bring as much bloodshed to the region as the Mountain had, maybe even more. Now that Skaikru won the battle with the Mountain, they have gained the underground facilities and more weapons than ever before. If they so much as wished it, Skaikru could activate the acid fog and shroud the entire region in a blanket of perpetual deadly smoke. The missile launched at Tondc will be nothing compared to the coming war. Why couldn't Lexa understand this? Clarke glanced at Skaikru’s leader talking to Lexa in front of her, at the people who looked up to him (Lincoln being one of them was something she acknowledged specifically), and clenched her fists together. She raised her chin up and cleared her throat.

     "I have something to say." Clarke said clearly.

Her loud determined voice caught the attention of everyone in the room and they stopped talking to turn and look at her.

     " _Hod yu rein daun Klark._ [Mind your place, Clarke.]" Lexa said calmly in Trigedasleng even though there was a slight hint of panic in her eyes and her fingers gripped the arms of the throne a bit too hard. 

     Clarke ignored the Commander and stepped forward to address the crowd in the throne room. Her blue robes billowed as she moved. The members of the Coalition whispered amongst themselves, wondering what Clarke was doing and what she was going to say. If Lincoln had killed at least a thousand people by the time he was eighteen, Clarke was sure the representatives would look at him the same way. But it was not Lincoln they were staring at. It was her. They feared her and her power and she was going to use it to her advantage. Standing in front of Lexa and her throne now, Clarke looked down at the six warriors in front of her. One of these warriors will become Lexa's chosen. But they can be easily persuaded to vacate the position.

     " _Ai laik Klark kom Delfikru_. [I am Clarke of Delfikru.]" Clarke said, talking directly to the six warriors. They stood rigid under her gaze but she could see the sparks of fear in their eyes. Clarke could always tell when someone is afraid. " _Ai laik yu Wanheda_. [I am your Wanheda.]" 

Noting the Commander's nervousness but not being able to understand what Clarke was saying, Bellamy and Wells turned to Lincoln for guidance.

     "What's going on?" Wells asked.

She did not hear Lincoln answer.

     " _Dison laik ain_. [This one is mine.]" Clarke raised her finger and pointed it straight at Bellamy but her eyes were still on Lexa's chosen ones. " _Gon we o wan op_. [Leave or die.]"

     The hum of whispers turned into a huge roar at Clarke's declaration. Lexa's chosen ones didn't dare move. They were stuck between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, they could not disobey their Commander's orders of becoming the chosen one and killing Bellamy Blake after Skaikru's initiation into the Coalition. On the other hand, they did not wish to meet an untimely death by the Wanheda herself after she had claimed Bellamy. Clarke knew she was taking a risk. Even with her reputation as Wanheda, the warriors might not back down. Honor was everything to their people and backing out of a promise was not honorable. Disobeying their commander was a treasonable act worthy of death. Hell, she might even be executed for her audacity.

      "Silence!" Lexa shouted, trying to take back her control over the situation. Her voice was orotund and precise despite the harsh glare she threw Clarke. "Your Wanheda has spoken. What says you to her command?"

     " _Sha, Wanheda_. [Yes, Wanheda.] " The warriors replied in unison. 

     With that said Lexa's chosen ones turned around and walked right out of the throne room without looking at anyone along the way. At the front, Bellamy and Wells were silently asking Lincoln what was going on. But Lincoln was in such a state of shock he didn't get a chance to explain before Lexa spoke again.

     "Now that the chosen one have been decided, there is nothing else to do but await Skaikru's decision. Bellamy and his comrades can stay on the 25th floor of the Ityra Tower. At sunrise, they will begin their journey back to Arkadia. Murphy, you know what to do."

      Murphy nodded his head in acknowledgement, bowed down to his teacher and Commander, and turned to leave. Bellamy, Wells, and Lincoln didn't need instructions from Murphy and simply followed him out. Knowing when they were no longer needed, the other members of the Coalition followed suit until the throne room was empty save for Clarke and Lexa.

     As soon as the heavy wooden doors closed, Lexa got up from her throne and stalked over to Clarke. Anger radiated off her in waves and the wild way her braided hair moved along with the swishes of her leather attire only emphasized that anger. Clarke turned to face Lexa. For a quick moment, she wondered if Lexa would kill her. But if that was what the Commander wanted, she would have had her executed as soon as she spoke up for Skaikru. Armed with this knowledge, Clarke held her chin up high and braced her body for the impact. Lexa did not disappoint. As soon as Clarke was within arm's length, Lexa seized her by the neck and slammed her against the wall. She felt her shoulder crack at the impact and let out a small whimper. The Commander paid it no mind and squeezed Clarke's throat even harder. 

      "Do you have any idea what you've done!" Lexa shouted, slamming Clarke against the wall again. This time, the impact was even harder than the first. What Lexa said next drowned out the sounds of Clarke trying to get air into her system. “How dare you... I could have you killed for your insolence. I am your Commander, Clarke, and you are just a mere Delphi Clan member. You do _not_ disobey me. After being by my side for so long, shouldn't that be clear to you? Do you know what you've done? Answer me!"

Lexa hurled Clarke against the wall one more time and let go to the girl. Clarke gasped, taking in as much air as she could when her throat was finally freed up for breathing. Lexa paced back and forth in front of her, waiting for her answer. 

     "I..." Clarke coughed, her voice hoarse. She leaned back against the wall for more support as she tried to breath and think of what to say. "I know that I am trying to stop a war you will inadvertently create."

     "Your mother is never wrong, Clarke." Lexa hissed. "She speaks true."

     "My mother's old and senile. She makes mistakes."

     "Name one." 

     "Costia." Lexa stopped her pacing. Knowing that she know had the Commander's attention, Clarke continued on. "My mother said Costia would make it out of the prison alive. She told you not to be intimidated by Queen Nia's blackmail. You trusted her and Costia died. You didn't fault my mother. You didn't want to. Because deep down, you thought it was your fault Costia died. I know because I have seen the way you carried yourself after her death, closing yourself off to everyone and anyone who cared just so no one would die by associating themselves with you. But Lexa, do not forget that it was my mother who led you astray.”

     "I should have saved her," Lexa whispered solemnly.

Standing there, with the throne behind her, Lexa made for a lonely figure. Clarke pushed herself away from the wall and took several steps to be by Lexa's side. 

     "You can't save her, not anymore. But you can save our people from doom." Clarke said. Despite the pain that spread through her body with each movement of her upper body, Clarke lowered herself down to the floor and knelt in front of Lexa. She lowered her head to kiss the back of Lexa's hand before looking up at the woman standing before her. "Let me be your chosen one, heda. Let me find a way to avoid this war without any bloodshed. We must at least try, shouldn't we?"

     "And if you can't?" Lexa asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Clarke paused, contemplating the question.

     "Then I will kill Bellamy Blake myself." She replied with finality. 

Lexa narrowed her eyes, watching each and every change of Clarke's facial features. When she found what she was looking for, the Commander nodded.

     "Do you swear on it?" 

     "I swear on my lineage and my clan that I will do what must be done for our people."

     "Then go." Lexa took a deep breath and sighed. She pulled her hand away from Clarke's own and looked down on the girl, noting with chagrin the bruises forming on Clarke's neck. "Do not fail me, Clarke."

     "Thank you, heda."

     Clarke pushed herself up from the floor, wincing at the sound of her shoulder cracking. It wasn't dislocated but close to it. If Clarke didn't have things to do after this, she would be in bed nursing the injury. But Skaikru was waiting and Murphy will probably explode with questions if she didn't come and visit. Under Lexa's piercing gaze, Clarke rearranged her robes because one of her sleeve had fallen off the shoulder during the altercation and she readjusted her hair so it swirled around her neck in an attempt to hide the bruising she knew was forming there. When she looked presentable, Clarke bowed her head to her Commander and turned to walk out of the throne room.

     "Clarke?" Lexa called out as Clarke put her hand on the heavy doors. 

     "Yes?"

     "Are you trying to save Skaikru because of Finn?"

Clarke's grip on the door handle tightened slightly. She did not turn back to acknowledge the Commander.

     "I am only trying to do what's right."

With that said, Clarke opened the door and walked away. She had a blood binding ceremony to prepare for.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reading Grounder Clarke or Grounder Bellamy fanfics is my jam. So are arranged marriages. This is my take on it. I have no beta and have terrible grammar so please excuse the grammar mistakes in this chapter and all the subsequent chapters. I hope you guys like it. If you do, please don't hesitate to leave comments. Thank you and tune in next time for another installment of Bound.


	2. Return

     The Grounder who greeted them at the entrance of Polis was silent on the way down to the 25th floor. He looked like he had a lot on his mind and walked hurriedly to their destination. Occasionally, he would whisper things in Trigedasleng but Bellamy didn't understand what he was saying and Lincoln was disinclined to translate. It wasn't the first time Bellamy met Murphy but the Grounder didn't give any indication he remembered their first meeting so Bellamy said nothing. In fact, their entire group was silent on the way to their guest room, no doubt thinking about what had transpired and what it would mean for the future.

     The guest room, a big curved chamber, was richly decorated in furs, leathers, and flowing fabric. Four canopy beds were positioned along the curved wall and pillows and blankets of different sizes were lying at the end of the beds. The group entered the room without much preamble. Lincoln was about to say something to Murphy, perhaps to thank him for showing them the way, when the boy walked over to one of the beds to the left of the room and plopped down on the mattress. He made himself comfortable and propped his feet (his boots were caked with mud) on the bed, unashamedly staring at them.

     There was a smirk on his face that Bellamy wanted to smack but he restrained himself. Instead, he kept his eyes on Murphy as he walked over to the bed next to his and dropped his supplies pack on the floor. Mimicking Murphy, he also lay down on the bed and held back a sigh of relief at how comfortable the bed was. After traveling non-stop, a warm bath and a deep sleep were the only things Bellamy wanted. Lincoln did the same. Wells rummaged through his bag for a few seconds before throwing his backpack on his bed and turned to look at Murphy.

     "Shouldn't you be leaving?" Wells asked.

Murphy, who was now throwing a small dagger up and down, gave one cursory glance at Wells and went back to focusing on his juggling.

     "Shouldn't you be resting?" He replied back.  

     "I'm not resting until you leave Grounder boy."

Murphy snorted at Wells' nickname for him.  

     "Have it your way, Skaikru freak. I'm not leaving." 

Lincoln lifted himself up on his elbows and turned to look at Murphy.

     "Murphy..." He started slowly. "They've been traveling all day. Give your intimidation tactics a rest and leave them alone." 

     "Who says I'm intimidated by him?" Wells scoffed. 

Bellamy couldn't help but groan at the antics between Murphy and Wells. It was late, he was tired, and they were going at it like they didn't just agree to a possible peace treaty 10 minutes ago. 

     "Who says I'm trying to intimidate you? You give that macho bullshit a rest. I'm only waiting for Clarke."

     "What are you, her bitch?"

Murphy immediately shot out of his bed and stalked over to where Wells was standing.

     "What did you say, freak?" He hissed. 

     "You heard me."

Knowing a fight when they see one, both Bellamy and Lincoln got up and got ready to separate the two. But before anything could happen, Murphy suddenly snapped out of his angry rage and stopped walking. Lincoln and Bellamy exchanged glances, both letting out an internal sigh of relief that nothing happened.

     "You know what, forget this." Murphy said.

     He waved a dismissive hand at Wells and was about to go back to his bed when the sounds of heavy footsteps and a shrill voice pierced the tense silence of the room. Bellamy, Lincoln, and Wells looked at each other, eyes wide with confusion. They were under the impression that no one used the eastern wing of the 25th floor or so Murphy said. So why was there someone shouting? Beside Bellamy, Murphy hissed a string of profanities. Before anyone could even ask the question, the door to the guest room burst opened and Clarke of the Delphi Clan entered all anger and rage.

     She looked different than the last time he saw her. Her blonde hair tumbled out in waves rather than braids, there was no war paint on her face, and she had traded the roughness of her leather and bone armor for the softness of cotton robes. The diaphanous blue silk draped loosely on her shoulders and flowed behind her as she walked, each step revealing a hint of her décolletage and legs. It was a daring type of dress, one that he hasn't seen on any Grounder before, and Bellamy was almost ashamed to say he liked it on her. Almost. There was no trace of the Wanheda in the girl in front of him now. If not for the anger in her eyes and the anchored bow and arrow in her bare arms, he would have thought her as an Atlantean princess.

     "Woah, woah, woah!" Murphy shouted, throwing his hands in front of him as Clarke moved to aim the arrow right at him. Bellamy made a move to interject but Lincoln grabbed his arm and stopped him. "When did you get a bow and arrow?"

     "Syan gave it to me when he passed by." Clarke replied nonchalantly. "Out of all the rooms on the 25th floor, you just  _had_ to give them this one. Tell me one reason why I should let you keep that arm of yours."

     "I'm your second." Murphy reminded her. 

     "Still not a good enough reason, Fifi." Clarke mocked. Murphy, as if used to the name calling, only scowled. Bellamy glanced at his companions and saw that they were trying to hold in their laughter. He snickered along with them. Clarke, as if suddenly made aware of their presence, turned to look at them a pleasant smile on her face. "Hi guys. Nice to see you again."

     "Hi," said Lincoln.

Wells and Bellamy opted to wave their hands instead, unsure of the situation at hand.

     "Ha ha, very funny." Murphy slowly clapped his hands. Clarke lowered her weapon, removed the arrow from the bow, and placed it back into the quiver behind her back. She pulled the quiver off of her and put it on the floor, turning to look at Murphy expectantly. "Don't think I'm going to let you off that easy Clarke. What the fuck was that stunt you pulled back there? Do you want to be thrown off the tower like Queen Nia's last ambassador? Does the danger excite you?"

     "You're the one who loves danger bringing Skaikru into my private space without my permission." She looked around the place. "When did you clean this up anyway?" 

     "It doesn't matter. I want them to bear witness to your stupidity which I will point out in minute detail." Clarke was about to say something when Murphy cut her off. "I swear, you have such a big savior complex. First the Mountain and now agreeing to marry this freckled ass man?" 

At the mention of his aforementioned freckled ass, Bellamy perked up.

     "I don't have a--" He started.

     "Wait what?" Wells asked. "Are you saying Bellamy has to marry Clarke? I thought it has to be one of Lexa's chosen."

     "Where have you been Skaikru freak?” Murphy snapped. “You were there, you heard the lady."

     "Not everyone can speak Trigedasleng jack ass. All I heard was gibberish."

     "Maybe it's time you fucking learned. You're not in space anymore." 

To capture the attention of the two bickering dunce buckets, Bellamy put his fingers to his mouth and whistled loudly. Everyone in the room flinched at the loud sound. 

    "Break it up you two." Bellamy said irritably. "Can someone please explain?"

     "Clarke claimed Bellamy for her own tonight.” Lincoln replied quickly, looking at Clarke with eyebrows furrowed.

     "That's Wanheda to you, _natrona_." Murphy hissed.

     "Murphy, stop calling Lincoln a traitor."

Clarke's dark glance at Murphy made him shut his mouth but he still vehemently stared at Lincoln for daring to address her informally. Lincoln did not react to the insult.

     "And the warriors Lexa chose just let her 'claim' Bellamy?" Wells asked, puzzled. "They don't seem like the letting go type of people. I honestly thought there would have been some sort of epic battle between the warriors for Bellamy's hand or something." 

     "What am I, a damsel in distress?" Bellamy scoffed. 

     "More like the winning prize at a dueling tournament." Clarke pointed out with a smirk on her face.

Wells and Lincoln grinned at the comment. 

     "Clarke didn't really give them much of a choice,” continued Lincoln. “She basically told them that Bellamy was hers and if they know what's good for them, they should leave or accept the fact that they will die.”

     “A long and painful death,” Murphy added.

     “Since Lexa did not disagree to the claim, she must think the two of them are a good match for one another. Provided no one wants to challenge Clarke, Bellamy will be marrying Clarke if and when he decides to enter the Coalition."

Clarke looked at Bellamy and Wells.

     "That’s the reason why I’m here. Are you guys planning to accept?"

     “It’s a bit more complicated than that…” Wells replied hesitantly.

     After everything that had happened, the new found trust his people had for the Grounders was shattered with Lexa's betrayal. Lexa had left his people to die, drained of blood and drilled for bone marrow, and now she was asking them to trust her yet again? For the Commander to ask them to enter into another alliance, an alliance that would make them a part of the Grounders, was reprehensible at best. But this was Clarke asking the question, not some random Grounder who didn’t give a shit about them, and Bellamy felt like he owed it to her to answer truthfully.

    “As a group we still have to think about it,” said Bellamy. “But there’s an 80% chance that we will.”

    Clarke nodded at Bellamy’s answer, her eyes far away. Murphy leaned over and whispered something into Clarke’s ears and she smacked the guy. Watching the two of them bicker, Bellamy wondered how old Clarke was when she took Murphy under her wing as his second. The pair of them doesn’t look much older than 17 or 18 so the idea of Murphy being Clarke’s second baffled him. According to Octavia, Indra had 3 Seconds before Octavia and the woman was nearing her 50s.

    “I think it’s an excellent opportunity for Skaikru.” Clarke stated when she and her second finished bickering.

    “Their fucking leader will marry Wanheda, of course it’s a fucking excellent opportunity.” Murphy stated, folding his arms and glaring at his teacher.

    “He’s right there you know,” said Clarke.

She smacked Murphy on the arm and didn’t seem at all surprised when he blocked her.

    “It looks like we’re not getting any sleep tonight,” Wells groaned.

Clarke looked out the window, the outside nothing but a blanket of darkness, and nodded her head as if she could tell the time just by recognizing the different shades of black.

    “I only need to speak with Bellamy privately for a few minutes. Then Murphy and I will be out of your hair.”

Murphy didn’t wait for Clarke to finish her statement before he grabbed Clarke’s quiver and bow, opened the door, and looked at Bellamy.

     “Blake, outside.” Murphy cocked his head out. “Now.”

    Wells and Lincoln was about to reject the idea, probably thinking that maybe Clarke and Murphy might try to kill him, but Bellamy gave them a nod. They looked like they had a lot to say about the matter but they ultimately trusted him and sat back down. But just to make sure he covered all grounds, Bellamy grabbed a gun from his supplies pack, put it in the holster on his belt, and followed Murphy out the door. Clarke said her good byes to Wells and Lincoln and stepped out as well. They walked the hallway in silence for a few minutes. Murphy purposefully lagged behind to give Clarke and Bellamy some privacy to talk but he knew the Grounder could hear their conversation loud and clear.

    “It’s been a while,” Clarke started with a wry smile.

Bellamy chuckled at her attempt at small talk and nodded his head.

    “Three months,” he said.

    “I trust you’ve been well.”

He had a feeling she wasn’t just asking about how physically well he was.

    “As well as I can be.”                                      

    “That’s all that matters.”

    Behind him, he could hear Murphy grumbling something along the lines of ‘oh my god kill me’. Clarke and Bellamy looked at each other as if they had just realized the awkwardness of the situation and burst out laughing. Bellamy didn’t know how long he laughed for and if Clarke was even laughing with him. But after the fall of the Mountain, Camp Arkadia’s residents are more subdued. He had been walking on eggshells around everyone and laughter was few and far in between given the tension in the camp. And yet there he was, standing next to two Grounders who could kill him if they wanted to, laughing his head off like a maniac. It was a strange but welcoming experience. When Bellamy came down from his high, there were tears in his eyes and his face was all red from the exertion.

     “I’m so sorry about that,” he said still tittering a little.

    “It’s alright.” Clarke smiled. “You look like you needed it.” Bellamy didn’t answer. “Listen Bellamy, I want to talk to you about what happened at the meeting tonight.”

    “What is there to understand?” Bellamy asked. “If I want my people to survive, we have to become the thirteenth clan and I have to marry you. I think it’s pretty self-explanatory.”

    He didn’t like the idea of becoming allies with the Grounders. It didn’t go very well before. But Bellamy can’t deny how much they needed it. They may have been able to survive these past few months on sheer willpower alone. But how long will that last? Winter is coming and no one had experience with snow despite having read about it. How will his people cope?

     Only yesterday, a group went hunting and returned with multiple injuries because someone fell into the river and incurred the wrath of the monster in the water within. Did the Grounders know how to sooth that vicious beast? Do they have a flute or some shit? What was the monster’s weakness? If they enter the Coalition, his people would gain that knowledge. They could start trading things with the Grounders from different clans and get whatever they needed. Despite the risks, the alliance would open so many more opportunities for his people.

    Clarke slowed to a stop. Bellamy followed suite and turned to look at her. The darkness out in the hallway did nothing to diminish Clarke’s princess look. If anything, it further accentuated the soft glow of her blonde hair, slightly tanned skin, and that flowing dress. How many Greek stories did he read that described her historically inspired dress in perfect detail? Noticing he was looking at her a bit too intently, Bellamy cleared his throat and lowered his gaze.

    “I understand you have some hesitation about the merger.” Clarke started. He wanted to scoff in her face. ‘Some’ hesitation was an understatement. “But I want you to know that you won’t be doing this alone. If you agree, you will be marrying me.”

    “I haven’t forgotten.” he replied. “Why did you decide to marry me anyway? It can’t be good for you or your clan.”

    “She is the clan,” Murphy muttered behind them. “What she says goes.”

    “Shut up Murphy.” Once again, Clarke rolled her eyes at Murphy’s comment. Their tandem, although intense at times, was endearing. It reminded him of his relationship with Octavia. Bellamy couldn’t help but smile at the thought. “Whether Lexa admits it or not, she wants this to happen. She wants you in the Coalition because it would strengthen all of us. Your performance on the ground thus far has proven to us your bravery, courage, and strength. When word gets out that the leader of Skaikru is looking for a consort, all the chieftains will want to get in on that opportunity. That’s why I took it first. Delphi Clan is the third largest clan in this region. If you marry me, it would boost our population and increase our influence in politics, trading routes, et cetera. I don’t have to know you to understand that if I am your wife, Delphi Clan will get the first of everything whether it’ll be technology, weapons, or whatever else you guys have up your sleeves. Can you blame me for jumping at the opportunity?”

    “When you put it that way, it doesn’t sound so strange. But… you’re oddly calm about this.”

    “Why should I worry?”

    “You’re marrying a stranger. If I were you, I would be concerned.”

    “I don’t think you will hurt me,” Clarke replied immediately.

Bellamy snickered.

    “Is that your way of telling me I’m not strong enough?”

The smile that graced her face made her glow.

    “I’m just saying you wouldn’t like the aftermath, that’s all.”

    “Sure princess, sure.”

Clarke smiled a little before the hint of her mirth gave way to a serious determined look.

    “I know that in your eyes, Lexa's betrayal didn't boost our people's reputation. But not everyone is like that. Lexa... She can give off an aura of nonchalance at times, but she only did what she thought was good for her people. The Mountain Men were powerful. Hundreds of our people died in their hands. Can you blame Lexa for taking the easier way out the first opportunity it came to her? I'm not trying to justify what she did. Some of us are actually very angry at her for going back on the alliance, my clan included. But as a leader, you must understand." Bellamy said nothing and Clarke didn't seem like she was expecting an answer. "I guess what I'm trying to get at is... Your people's initiation into the Coalition can bring about a great change in this region, in our society, and we want you to take part in it. You won't be the only one entering this venture. My clan is taking a risk as well. At least if it’s me, you know I’ll treat you and your people like my own.”

    Of that, Bellamy had no doubts. Apart from Lincoln, Clarke was the only other Grounder who aided his people that night after Lexa made her retreat. She was the one who threw her majestic double ended spear at one of the Mountain Men before the guy had a chance to shoot Bellamy at point blank range. This same Grounder had looked upon his people being chained up and drilled into with unshed tears and terrifying anger. And when the moment finally came, she was the one who looked right into his eyes and told him she would help him bear the burden even if that meant she got blood on her hands because of it. They never met before that night. Clarke didn’t have to do those things. Disobeying her Commander’s orders to aid in his quest to rescue his people was both valiant and foolish of Clarke. And although she had ulterior motives for wanting to marry him, he knew he could trust her more so than he should have Lexa.

    “I know.”

    “Good. Then I await your answer at the end of the week.” Clarke smiled. Behind her, Murphy pushed himself off from the wall he was leaning on. “Good night, Bellamy Blake.”

    “Good night Clarke,” Bellamy said.

    Without any further remarks, Clarke bid Bellamy farewell with a quick nod of her head and walked away. Murphy quickly followed and caught up with her, the two of them now starting a lively conversation that he couldn’t hear. Shaking his head, Bellamy turned away and walked back to his room.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

    Morning came quicker than he expected. It felt like he had only slept an hour or two at best before Lincoln was rousing him from his slumber. The three of them got ready for their grueling journey back home in silence. They were pretty beat and didn’t have the energy to make small talk. When they made their way down the tower to the entrance, no one crossed their path. The sun was shining bright when they exited the tower, making both Wells and Bellamy curse. Lincoln, who had been awake since dawn, didn’t seem to mind but rather reveled in it.

    On their way to the rover parked right outside the city limits, Lincoln spoke to any Grounders who would care to listen to exchange words and news of his people. Even though some met him with disdain, he didn’t stop trying. Some Grounders blatantly stared at Bellamy and Wells, muttering to themselves in Trigadasleng, but most didn’t dare to make eye contact with the two of them. Halfway out the city, Lincoln stopped next to a stall selling food and bought them some warm bread for breakfast. They ate in silence. Without really saying it out loud, the three of them were uneasy and restless. The uncertainty of the people staring and not knowing whether or not they were friend or foe made them on edge.

    “What’s that sound?” Wells asked.

    Bellamy looked up from the bread he was eating and tried to listen. They were half way out of the city so there were more trees than there were people. All he could hear was the rush of water trickling somewhere near, birds tweeting incessantly, and the wind passing through the trees but nothing else.

    “I don’t hear anything,” he said.

    “Listen carefully. Doesn’t that sound like cheering to you?”

    Bellamy concentrated harder. The trickling water was still there and so was the wind passing through the trees. He almost wanted to ask Wells if he had smoked some of Jasper’s hallucinogens but then remembered Jasper no longer cultivated the plants anymore. He doesn’t do anything except drink himself into a stupor at every opportunity. But then, almost without planning to, he heard it. In between the sound of the wind brushing against the trees, he could hear what Wells was saying. Although it was not faint, the cheering came in bursts and one could easily mistake it for the wind.

    “Yeah I hear it too.” Bellamy said.

    “I think there’s a training ground nearby.” Lincoln looked around the general are. “Seconds are usually trained here because it’s away from the bustling city.”

    “Is there any way we can go and see them train?” Wells asked.

    “Without getting speared down.” Bellamy clarified.

    “I think we can manage that. Come on.”

    Lincoln chuckled and gestured for them to follow his lead. As they made their way to the training grounds, Bellamy couldn’t help but focus on the sounds of the cheers. It was getting louder and louder as they approached. Five minutes of walking off the beaten pathway, Bellamy and his group reached a clearing. What the Grounders used as a training ground was actually an old and dilapidated open air theater with raised tiered rows of benches circling an open field. Some parts of the benches were not safe for human usage but most of the open air theater was still functional.

    A group of about two dozen Grounders were huddled in one of the section of the theater, loudly cheering with applause and banging on their weapons. Lincoln made his way down the benches until they were standing right behind the last group of Grounders and they started watching the show. In the middle of the open field for all to watch, two Grounders were battling it out with one another. One of the Grounders, a tall lanky man with some fusion armor made of leather and cloth, was kneeling on the ground. He had his broadsword standing upright on the ground and judging by the Grounder’s heavy breathing, he was definitely using the sword as an aid to keep himself up. His opponent, a woman dressed in a light clothed armor with arm and leg guards, was standing three feet away from him holding on to a double pointed three-pronged spear.

    Bellamy would recognize that weapon anywhere. He glanced at the woman, noting the braided blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, and smiled. If that was Clarke, then the man on the ground with the short braided brown hair was definitely Murphy. The two warriors stayed in their positions for a few seconds before Clarke moved in on Murphy. The latter mustered all his strength, grabbed his sword from the ground, and quickly parried Clarke’s spear attack. Before Clarke could pull back her spear to hit him again, Murphy rolled on the ground and removed himself from her line of attack.

    But regardless of how fast he was, Clarke seemed to have anticipated his move because she thrust the other end of her spear right at him when he unrolled himself. He tried blocked the attack. As soon as Murphy’s sword clanked against her weapon, Clarke twisted her wrist and quickly pressed down on her weapon until she trapped Murphy’s sword between the small point and middle point of her three-pronged spear. She slammed the tip of her spear to the ground, locking Murphy’s sword in. Murphy fell to his knees at the force and attempted to pull his sword away from the spear but it was hard to break free given his position. The two of them struggled like that for a few moments, Murphy trying to get his sword out and Clarke trying to trap him in.

    Then as though having thought of another tactic, Murphy balanced himself on his hands and pushed his legs up to slam his feet against the body of Clarke’s spear. The wood broke at the impact, the second half of the spear loosening its grip against the ground. Murphy took the opportunity to retrieve his sword, got up from the ground, and backed away a few steps sword at the ready. Despite the surprise move on Murphy’s part, Clarke didn’t miss a beat. She quickly grabbed the fallen half of her weapon in her other hand, took several steps back to watch Murphy, and began twirling her two spears in her hands like daggers she couldn’t wait to throw.

    A second later, Murphy and Clarke went at each other’s throats. What followed was a succession of parries and blows being thrown left and right with no time in between. With the swiftness of the hits and the impacts of the blows, it was hard for Bellamy to mark a beginning and the middle of whole fiasco. Clarke was continuously attacking Murphy by delivering lethal blows with her spears and Murphy was trying his best to defend himself and inflict some damage as well. But the latter was failing to hit Clarke and the frustration and anger that suddenly charged him made his movements a bit more erratic and destructive. He left his side unprotected, just for one second, and Clarke took that opportunity to give Murphy a hard kick to the ribs followed by a ringing smack to his wrist with the wooden side of her spear. His sword fell just as Murphy collapsed to his knees at the double impact.

    A loud applause rang through the air at Murphy’s defeat, the Grounders shouting and cheering in Trigedasleng. Lincoln, Bellamy, and Wells cheered with them. Bellamy thought Octavia’s training with Indra was intense. But what he just witnessed with Clarke and Murphy… That was a phenomenal show of fighting skills. Whereas Octavia was untrained and unclear on what to do, Murphy knew exactly what was necessary in order to win. Granted he didn’t because he lost his temper, but it was a great battle to see nonetheless. Clarke went to say something to Murphy, offering a hand to help him up, but the latter smacked her hand away angrily. He got up from the ground without any help and walked away from the center of the arena, one hand clutching his injured wrist. Clarke didn’t take the rejection personally and threw her two spears into a pile of weapons near her.

    “ _Chon yu nes_!” Clarke shouted to the crowd.

    A pair of Grounders in front of Bellamy got up from their seats and made their way down to the arena as Clarke made her way up the stairs. Their fellow Grounders cheered the newcomers on, adequately riling them up for a fight. Clarke looked around the general area, as if looking for someone, before her eyes fell on Bellamy and his small group of people. She glanced around, wondering if anyone had noticed, before walking over to them. Murphy, who was loitering around near his teacher, followed Clarke up with a heated scowl on his face that darkened even further when he saw Bellamy and his team. There were two lines of blood on Murphy’s cheek that Bellamy didn’t notice before. He wasn’t aware Clarke had even injured him in any way.

    “Bellamy, Lincoln, Wells,” Clarke greeted with a nod of her head.

    “Hi Clarke.” Bellamy said.

Wells and Lincoln replied in grunts and a low ‘hey’. When Murphy said nothing in greeting, she turned to look at her second and it was then that she noticed the bleeding cuts on the left side of his cheek. She let out a gasp.

     “Murphy, what happened?”

    “Nothing,” Murphy growled.

    “Let me have a look at that,” Clarke reached out to Murphy but he brushed her hand away. “ _Murphy_.”

    “Leave me alone. You’re the one who cut me.”

    “It was an accident.”

    “Accident my ass.”

    “Murphy, stop being a baby and let me look at it.” Murphy pursed his lips and said nothing. Clarke watched as Murphy wiped the blood from the cuts with a wince but decided there was nothing she could do. So she turned to look at Skaikru. “Why haven’t you guys left yet?”

    “They heard cheering and wanted to know what it was. When I told them you guys were training, they insisted on watching.” Lincoln chuckled.

    “We did not insist,” Wells pointed out indignantly.

    “Did you like it?” Clarke threw an arm over Murphy’s shoulders and pulled him closer. “Murphy was awesome, wasn’t he?”

    “Yeah, he has come a long way since I last saw him.” Lincoln replied, watching in amusement as Murphy tried to break away from Clarke’s embrace.

    “Speak for yourself, _natrona_.” Murphy murmured. “Let’s move this conversation elsewhere before these jerks yell at us for interrupting their battle.”

    “That’s a good idea.”

Their group moved away from the open air theater and leisurely walked back to the main road, the rustling trees providing white noise and shade.

    “We’re actually on our way out ourselves.” Clarke said as they walked.

She eyed Murphy wiping the blood from his cuts again and Murphy glared back daring her to say anything. She made a face.

    “Back to the citadel?” Lincoln asked.

At the mention of what Bellamy assumed was her home, Clarke beamed with happiness and nodded her head.

    “Where is it?” Wells wondered.

    “South-east of Tondc.” Murphy replied matter-of-factly. 

     "Agarthi is a beautiful place, I'm sure you guys will like it." Clarke smiled. "We have waterfalls, hot springs, and floating markets if that's your thing." 

Bellamy tried to imagine it as Clarke described her citadel. In his mind, he could see a beautiful oasis lush with bright green trees and a large blue lake with bubbling crystal clear water. The thought of how warm and inviting Agarthi sounded made him smile.

    "Perhaps when you have time, you should come and visit Arkadia." Bellamy suggested. "Our people would welcome you with open arms."

Wells nodded in agreement, but Murphy immediately scoffed at the idea. 

     "More like follow us around with your guns digging into our backs." Murphy growled.

     "Murphy, have some tact.” Clarke reprimanded before looking at Bellamy. “That sounds like a wonderful idea. However, I’ll have to take a rain check. It’s been a busy month.”

     Without even realizing it, the five of them reached the main road leading to and from Polis. Bellamy was about to ask how Clarke and Murphy will get back to Agarthi when he noticed two black horses munching on grass up ahead. Murphy gave Bellamy, Wells, and Lincoln individual nods of acknowledgement before walking over to their horses to get them ready for the journey ahead. Clarke lingered behind, watching the three of them for a few seconds. 

     "Polis will receive news of your decision in a week's time, I hope."

     "Yes," Wells replied. 

     "I won't be there to receive it but I'm sure Lexa will send a messenger to Agarthi to inform me of your decision. If Skaikru does decide on the merger, I trust you will be there to guide them through the etiquette of the blood binding ceremonies?" Clarke looked right at Lincoln as she said this. He nodded his head. She turned her attention to Bellamy and Wells. "Have a safe trip back."

     "You too." Wells and Bellamy replied in unison.

     Clarke gave them a smile and walked away. Bellamy watched as she reached Murphy's side, the latter holding on to the horses' reins. She rummaged through one of the bags hanging from her horse's saddle, retrieved what looked like a small glass bottle full of liquid, and proceeded to dab the content of the bottle on Murphy's injury. He did not push her away this time. Bellamy pulled his attention away from the Grounder and her second and turned back to see Wells and Lincoln looking at him with amused eyes. 

     "What are you looking at?" He asked them. 

     "Nothing," Wells replied with a smile. 

     A second later, the sound of galloping horses signaled Clarke's and Murphy's departure from their vicinity. They must have taken another route to their destination because Bellamy didn't see them leave. They reached the rover within the hour on foot and began their journey east to Arkadia. The first half hour of the ride was endured in silence. Bellamy was completely focused on driving while Lincoln and Wells helped him navigate through the winding roads. But in the last half hour of their ride, the three of them were getting a bit anxious and bored. So Wells started asking questions about Grounder traditions in order to know more about Lincoln and his people and the conversation slowly went from medicinal herbs to marriages. Bellamy was glad Wells opened up the floor for questions regarding marriage because he wanted to know as much as Wells, if not more. 

     "So are arranged marriages a common thing?" Bellamy asked.

     "No, I can't even remember the last blood binding we had."

     "Why is it called a blood binding and not a marriage? Blood binding sounds terrible." 

Lincoln laughed at Wells' comment. 

     "A blood binding is a political marriage." 

     "Clarke mentioned ceremonial etiquette.” Bellamy said, remembering how complicated as Clarke made it sound. “What does a blood binding ceremony entail?"

     "It depends largely on the status of both parties. Since Clarke is higher in status, she will make the first move and send a gift to Arkadia. Should Bellamy decide to accept her, he will send another gift back to her in Agarthi. This gift exchange goes on for seven days."

     "Seven days?" Wells exclaimed exasperatedly. "We have to send gifts every day for _seven_ days? How far is Agarthi?"

Lincoln paused for a moment, thinking.    

     "Probably 10 to 12 hours on horseback." 

Wells muttered a curse. 

     "And the wedding? You guys still have those, right?"

     "Yes, we still have those…”

At Lincoln's pause, Bellamy glanced at the rear view mirror to look at Lincoln sitting in the back seat. 

     "What is it?"

     "It's just never been done before." Lincoln frowned.

     "What's never been done?"

 

 

     "A blood binding between two leaders. Usually it's a leader or his second and the Commander's chosen. The warriors Lexa chose were prominent members in their own clans but they weren't leaders. Not like Clarke is." 

 

     The way Lincoln said Clarke’s name and her status as a leader was something akin to awe. Based on what he’s seen of Lincoln’s limited interactions with the said girl, it was clear to Bellamy that Lincoln has a lot of respect for Clarke not only as a leader of her clan but also as a person. He always talk to her respectfully, occasionally lowering his head like he would his actual commander, and didn’t even snap Murphy’s neck all those times the latter called him _natrona_ or traitor. Lincoln usually didn’t have a lot of patience when it came to other Grounders who disrespected him. Wells shifted in his seat and turned his head around to look at Lincoln.

     "Tell me about that. How is it that Clarke is the leader of her clan? She looks so young."

     "Lexa is young," Lincoln pointed out. 

     "But she is, at the very least, older than Clarke. What is she, twenty-five? Thirty? Clarke looks like she's barely twenty." 

Lincoln chuckled. 

     "You are correct. I think Clarke turned eighteen before the Mountain fell.”

     "My point exactly. How is she the leader of her clan?" 

     "She even has a second," Bellamy pointed out. “Is it normal for an eighteen year old to have a second almost the same age as her?”

     "Delphi Clan is a bit different from the others. It’s a matriarchal society based on one’s blood status _and_ accomplishments as a warrior. Clarke is the first female to be born in the clan in the last three or four generations. Not only that but she’s also quite the accomplished warrior. It was her destiny to become the leader of the clan.”

Wells and Bellamy sat on that information for a few minutes. It was the first time they heard of a Grounder clan supporting a leader based on one's blood rather than merits. Even more surprising was the fact that Clarke's entire clan, at least the pure blooded ones, consisted only of men. 

     “So you're saying over the past three or four decades, all the children born to the Delphi Clan were men? _All_ of them?”

     "Yes. The men have all married outside of the clan because of this. Hopefully children born to Clarke will be females so she can continue the line and the drought will end."

     "When did she become the leader?" Bellamy asked. 

     "When she was 12.”

     "And her parents didn't say anything?"

      "Her father was the regent. He died during the war.”

Wells let out a quiet 'huh'. 

     "Assuming Clarke marries Bellamy, which clan will their children fall under?"

Lincoln thought about the question for a few moments.

     "I'm not sure. But I assume it would be Clarke's."

     “Why not both?” Bellamy asked.

 

 

      “Clarke is the Wanheda." From where he sat, Bellamy could see Lincoln clench his fists from the rear view mirror. "She is higher in status than Bellamy. All children born to them will bear Clarke’s clan name.”

     “I’ve been meaning to ask this.” Bellamy said, his eyes on the road. Knowing that they were almost back at Arkadia, he stepped on the gas. “Why is Clarke the Wanheda? What does it mean? I know ‘heda’ means commander but I thought there’s only one commander and that’s Lexa.”

Lincoln shifted in his seat and lowered his gaze, a faraway look blanketing his normally tough visage. Wells and Bellamy glanced at each other, suddenly unsure of the atmosphere. A moment later, Lincoln spoke. His voice was carefully controlled to not reveal anything other than the basic facts.

     “Wanheda means commander of death. In terms of status, Clarke is right up there with Lexa. It is this title that made Lexa willing to accept Clarke’s claim to Bellamy. Had it been anyone else, Lexa would have them executed.”

     Lincoln’s answer to Bellamy’s question opened up numerous other questions that the former did not seem inclined to answer. But since it was the first time Bellamy and Wells had a full thirty minute long conversation with Lincoln, they didn’t want to dissuade him from further conversations with them. So when they realized how reticent Lincoln was being, Bellamy and Wells decided not to ask any more questions about Clarke’s Wanheda title and opted to sit in silence as they made their way back to Arkadia.

     The wait was not long and before they knew it, the rover had reached the outer walls of their camp. Bellamy and Wells poked their heads out of the windows so that the guards posted on the wall could see their faces just for security measures. Once the guards had confirmed their identities, the gate to Arkadia opened and Bellamy drove inside. He parked the car in one of the opening in the courtyard and the three of them got out. After the war, people of the Ark took whatever supplies they needed from Mount Weather and made significant improvements to Arkadia. They now have electricity for lights and the electric fence surrounding the perimeter, multiple large buildings where the people can sleep in, as well as two rovers and one truck for transportation purposes. So far, no one has complained about the living conditions and Bellamy was glad for it.

     “Was it a fun trip guys?” Miller asked, approaching with a gun propped on his shoulder. He looked like he just got off one of the guard shifts. “Got any good hauls?”

     “Hey, Miller.” Wells waved a hand at Miller before getting the attention of some people near the gate. Three guys came forward and helped unload the deer they had accidentally crashed and killed earlier into their ride. “Got a two headed deer for you.”

Miller cringed.

     “Of course you did. We all love ourselves some deer brains.”

They chuckled lightly.

     “Anything interesting happened while I was gone?” Bellamy asked, throwing the rover key at Miller. The latter caught it one handed. “Did they finish rebuilding the medical bay?”

     “We cleaned up most of the loose wreckage, as you can see. I’m waiting for you to applaud us for our efforts.” Miller gestured to the ground underneath them. Wells snickered and Bellamy smiled. “We finally got power to Alpha 5 so hurray for us so yes the medical bay is up and running again.”

     The group of helpers finally got a good hold on the two headed deer and together, they made their way to Mecha 4 so that it could be skinned for cooking. Mecha 4 was a small sanitary compound designated to butchering meat and food cultivation. Bellamy grabbed the three supplies backpack and moved away from the rover, offering two of the backpacks to his companions. Lincoln took his backpack, wiped the blood he got from the deer on the front of his pants, and put the backpack on.

     “Where’s Octavia?” Lincoln asked Miller.

     “I saw her in the hangar helping Wick with something about half an hour ago. She's probably still there.”

     “Thanks,” replied Lincoln.

He gave them a nod of his head and went off looking for Octavia. Bellamy watched him go for a couple of seconds before turning back to Wells and Miller.

     “Do you know where my father is?” Wells asked Miller. "We have a lot of things to talk about. I for one just want to get it over with so I can finally relax and have some lunch.”

Miller frowned, trying to remember where he saw Jaha last. When he couldn't, he grabbed the radio from his belt.

     "Has anyone seen Jaha?" He radioed in. 

     "I saw little Jaha entering with Bellamy five or ten minutes ago."

Bellamy glanced at Wells to see him grumble at the nickname.

     "I'm talking about the Chancellor. Where is he?"

     "He's in the med bay," another voice replied a moment later. Bellamy instantly recognized Harper’s voice. "I take it Bellamy and Wells is back and want to talk to him?" 

     "Yeah. Are you near? Can you ask him to not go anywhere? Bellamy and Wells will be right there." Miller radioed back. 

     "Yeah, will do captain."

     "Thanks Miller." Bellamy said. 

     With the knowledge of the Chancellor's whereabouts, Bellamy and Wells made their way to Alpha 5 where the medical facility was located. They found Jaha easily enough. He was inside the medical facility talking to one of the engineers about how to fix what seemed to be an electrical problem. Harper, the one who answered Miller's radio request, was standing several feet away from the Chancellor. When she saw them approaching, she spoke to Jaha. When he gave her permission, she quickly escorted the engineer out so a private meeting could take place. The Chancellor leaned against one of the hospital beds, folded his arms, and turned to look at the two of them.

     “Well?” Theolonius Jaha asked. “How did it go?”

Without further prompting, Bellamy and Wells reported what they discussed in Polis back to Jaha. All in all, Bellamy thought the man took the news well. But then again, it wasn’t as if his son was going to marry a Grounder or anything.

     “Clarke is convinced Lexa needs us. Given the terms of the initiation, I think it’ll be very beneficial to our survival here on earth if we agree.” Bellamy ended his side of the briefing.

     “Do you trust her?” Jaha asked.

     “Who?”

     “This Clarke.” The chancellor replied. “We don’t know anything about her except that she is the leader of her clan and a notoriously infamous ‘commander of death’. How do we know we can trust her? We’re talking about a marriage. We’re talking about introducing her to our way of life. Can we trust her enough to let her into Arkadia full time without any supervision?”

     “We let in Lincoln,” Wells pointed out. “He’s been a very helpful friend of ours. Lincoln trusts Clarke, probably not implicitly, but enough. I don’t think we’ll have a problem letting Clarke roam about. Chances are, our people will know she’s a Grounder and act accordingly. If she does anything suspicious, we will know.”

     “Lincoln stayed here because he has an attachment. Clarke is different.”

     “What are you saying then?” Bellamy asked. “That we should just let this opportunity go and wait until winter kills us all?”

     They’ve been on Earth longer than the Chancellor had and had experienced things Jaha wouldn’t even believe if he knew. Heck, Jaha didn’t even believe it when they told him some hunters got injured and almost lost their lives because of the monster in the river. When was he going to get it into his head that if they don’t do something soon, they would basically be the most vulnerable group of people in the region? Had the betrayal of Mount Weather not been enough? Their people survived, but just barely. They need to join the Coalition or at least gain some very powerful allies like Ice Nation or Delphi Clan to aid them if and when something like cannibalistic people come attacking.  

    “Did you forget the reason we’re in this position right now?” Jaha shot back. “Did you forget that the Grounder commander betrayed you and you had to defeat the Mountain all on your own? You trusted a Grounder you shouldn’t have and here we are."  

 

 

    “I didn’t forget,” Bellamy hissed. “But I wasn't alone in that fight."

      "Bellamy's right." Wells added. "Lexa and her people might have left us to die, but Lincoln and Clarke didn’t.” 

 Jaha turned to his son.

    “But why? Where was she before? Why didn’t she help us then? Why only after her Commander left? Did you ever ask her that?” Bellamy and Wells said nothing. “No, I didn’t think so. That girl has an ulterior motive for wanting this marriage. We can’t trust her.”

    “So what?” Wells asked, raising his voice. “Everyone has an ulterior motive. Lexa wants our tech and machinery. That’s why she proposed the deal. The reason why we’re even discussing this deal right now, the reason why we went to Polis to see that bitch, is because we want knowledge and land. We have ulterior motives too.”     

    “Why are you defending Clarke so much?”

Wells lowered his gaze, his shoulders raised and fell in unison with his breathing as he thought of an adequate answer.

    “She helped us when no one else did.” Wells replied, looking straight at his father with a determined look on his face. “I won’t forget that.”

    “You’re letting your emotions get in the way of your judgment, my son.”

    “You weren’t there!” Wells hissed back.

The angry spark in Wells’ eyes made Bellamy take a step back.

 

 

    “I was being drilled into and drained of blood like an animal. But maybe even less than an animal because if I was an animal, they would have at least used anesthetics. That’s why I wasn’t there, Wells. What is the point you’re trying to make?”

 

    “We were attacked by our own people. And you’re saying you won’t trust two or three Grounders even though they risked their lives for us?” Wells scoffed.

 

    “They weren’t our people.” Jaha denied.

 

    “You were the one who told us to look for Mount Weather when we landed. Had we done what you asked, we would have been dead by now. And you?” Wells chuckled sardonically. “You would have died up in the Ark knowing that you sent 100 kids on a group of cannibals.” 

 

    Theolonius Jaha said nothing for several moments, opting to stare at Wells intently. It was as if Bellamy didn’t even exist in his range of vision because he was so focused on watching his son calm down from his rant. Wells had brought up a sore subject for all of them. Knowing what he did now, Bellamy understood that Jaha had no choice but to take the risk. The Ark was dying and returning back to Earth, on the off chance that it was survivable, was better than death by suffocation. Jaha couldn’t have predicted that three days before the launch, his own son would be caught assaulting a guard. If he had a choice, Jaha would have pulled Wells out of the Skybox. But he didn’t and so the old man watched as his one and only son left the Ark on what he knew was a suicide mission. So far, the people on the Council has yet to apologize to the 100 for their transgressions and it seemed like Jaha didn't even apologize to his own son yet. It was obvious that the two of them needed to work out some of their problems but this was neither the time or the place. When no one spoke for several minutes, Bellamy cleared his throat and shifted where he stood.

    “Wells has a point,” he said finally.

     “Nevertheless…” Jaha clicked his tongue, snapping out of his daze. “She’s a Grounder through and through and we cannot trust her.”

    “Then who, _Chancellor_?” Wells hissed, emphasizing Jaha’s position knowing full well that the impersonal address would hurt his father. Jaha’s piercing eyes gave nothing of what he’s thinking away, but he clenched his jaws and pursed his lips. “If we can’t even trust our friends, who can we trust?”

    “We trust no one but ourselves.” Jaha unfolded his arms, pulled himself from the hospital bed he was leaning on, and straightened up. “Survival is the most important thing for us right now. Ultimately, we should accept Lexa’s terms and conditions. But we must decide carefully what we teach them and how much to teach them. Before this ‘wedding’ takes place, the security locks in every Alpha and Mecha station must be fixed. We give the codes to no one but the armed guards, the three of us, Wick, and Sinclair. Security measures must be elevated and when Clarke steps through that gate, she will be followed by a guard every single moment of her time here. No exceptions. There’s other measures we can take, but that’s what we need to immediately focus on. Now them, let’s get to it.” Jaha clapped his hand. The sound resonated loudly in the barren med bay. “We have a wedding to prepare.”

Something was telling Bellamy that Clarke wouldn’t like the invisible cage they’re luring her into with this marriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we get a glimpse of what Wells, Bellamy, and Theolonius Jaha thinks of Lexa's proposal and Bellamy's upcoming wedding. After re-reading it so many times, I personally think this chapter is a bore. But I promise next chapter will be more interesting. Please comment or heart if you liked the chapter. Thank you and tune in next time for another installment of Bound.


	3. Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got so stuck writing this chapter that I dilly-dallied for quite a while. So sorry.

 

     Clarke woke up to the smell of blood and burning fire heavy in the air. Pain enveloped her in its warm cocoon and sharp jabs to her body tortured her to no end. For a moment, she feared she was still in the cave and the monster was lurking somewhere near preparing for its next attack. The hurried breathing of something or someone hovering over her did nothing to ease her anxiety. But it was dark, her body was in pain, and she could not keep her eyes open for more than a second or two. She could only wait with baited breath. For death or for salvation, she was not sure.

     "...arke, wake up." A voice whispered. The sense of urgency in the familiar low voice called out to her but she could do nothing but let out a groan of protest. "Clarke, wake up!"

     "No," Clarke mumbled. She cringed at the metallic taste in her mouth and even that hurt more than she would have liked. "I can't..."

     "Azgeda might still be out there," the voice warned. "We have to leave."

     At the mention of Azgeda being on their tails, Clarke opened her eyes. Orange embers fluttered like fireflies above her head but they flew away as the smirking face of Murphy came to view. With ghastly pale skin, the man was a stark contrast against the darkness of the room. The sight of his face chased away all the remnants of agonizing pain attacking her body and she groaned.

     "Fuck you Murphy," Clarke said, pulling herself upright.

   Clarke glanced at the table in front of her and realized belatedly she had nodded off while talking to her second. There was a faint line of drool on the surface of the table where she had rested her head and she wrinkled her nose at the sight. She blinked, trying to orient herself. The sweltering temperature of the blacksmith forge didn’t help in her disorientation and Clarke had to wipe the sweat from her face once or twice before looking around.

           How did she even fall asleep in such heat? Several feet away near the furnace of stone and bricks, Murphy was conversing lightly with a tanned skin woman with dark brown hair and tattoos on her face. When the woman noticed her watching, she smiled and waved her large deformed hand in the air. Clarke waved back and made her way to the two of them.

   “Good, you’re awake.” Emori called out against the sound of the blazing fire as she approached. “I need you to finalize the design on your spear before you go.”

   “I already told you." Clarke said with a yawn, wincing slightly when her dry lips cracked. "I don’t care how you make it. Just make me one that’s strong enough to withstand Murphy’s big feet.”

Emori chuckled. Murphy already told her all the details of their training session back in Polis two weeks ago and how he had broken her spear.

   “Are you going to make fun of my big feet for all eternity?” Murphy said with a deadpanned expression on his face. "I regret waking you from your nightmare already."

   “It wasn’t a nightmare.” Clarke replied off-handedly, peeking into the furnace where Emori’s hot iron sat. “How long was I asleep?”

   “Long enough to miss your mother’s messengers.” Murphy snickered. “I sent all of them for a walk up the walls.”

   “Let me guess, it’s about the upcoming binding?” Clarke couldn’t decide whether to roll her eyes or let out a sigh of annoyance. “I’ve been home for almost two weeks. The last gift is supposed to be here soon and she _still_ wants to talk about it.”

   “It is the last day of the gift exchange. If she wishes to change your mind, it has to be today or she’ll fail in her task. I don’t blame her for sending three messengers in the span of fifteen minutes.” Emori said, flipping the hot iron in the furnace on to its other side. “When was the last time you talked to her anyway? A year? Two years ago?”

   “Yeah, just about.” Clarke said quietly.

   “Alright, enough chit-chat. It’s really hot.” Murphy pulled on his wet cotton shirt and glanced at Clarke. “Leave Emori to suffer through this heat alone or I will take the boat and leave without you.”

Clarke rolled her eyes at Murphy. He acted like he didn't enjoy Emori's company.  

   “Shut up, Murphy.” Emori reprimanded.

   “You shut up,” Murphy shouted back. “It’s hot as fuck in here.”

   “Uh huh,” Emori replied dismissively before turning her attention back to Clarke. “I hear Bellamy Blake himself is coming to deliver the last gift. What did you give him for him to want you so much?”

   “A fucking painting.” Murphy replied for Clarke before she could, shaking his head in disgust at the idea. “If my future wife ever gives me a fucking painting, I will reject them immediately.”

   “Good thing no one wants to marry you.” Clarke sneered. Beside her, Emori let out a laugh. “I gave him a painting of Agarthi.”

   “Oh? Which one?”

   “You remember the one with the aerial view?”

   “Ah yes, that’s a lovely painting,” Emori remarked. “Didn’t you climb all the way up to the highest tower of Takama for that?”

   “And almost died?” Murphy cackled. “Oh yeah, we all remember that.”

   “I fall off the tower one time and you all make fun of me until the end of dawn. _One_ time.” Clarke gave Murphy an annoyed look. “But yes, that’s the painting I gave him. I figured since all of his representatives know what Agarthi looks like already and he doesn’t, he might be curious. Agarthi is pretty much old world Venice after all and I think he’s into that sort of thing.”

   “You know,” Emori started. “You’re putting in a lot of effort into this, considering it’s a blood binding.”

Clarke shrugged her shoulders.

   “Just because it’s a blood binding doesn’t mean I have to hate it.”

   “She practically offered herself to that asshole.” Murphy commented. “I’m sure she likes it.”

The poison oozing from Murphy's words made Clarke tense. 

   “Might I remind you Skaikru possesses an incredible amount of ammunition and missiles? Being their ally isn’t that bad of an idea.”

   “They’re Skaikru,” Her second hissed, slamming a clenched fist on a nearby table. Emori, whose attention was on the hot rod of metal in the furnace, stopped what she was doing to look at her lover. “They’re outsiders, lowest of the low. The last time we let an outsider in, he destroyed three villages."

     "Murphy," warned Emori. 

   “And I took care of him, just like I will take care of Skaikru should they cause our clan harm.” Clarke replied carefully, her gaze not once pulling away from Murphy's stare. "Do you disagree to my sentence, Murphy?"

Murphy took a deep breath and let out a resigned sigh.  

     "No," he said after a second. "But he deserved less than the mercy you gave him after what he did." 

Clarke pursed her lips but said nothing. 

      “Alright you two, there’s no need to dig up past transgressions.” Emori said, looking at one and the other with a stern expression on her tattooed face. “Do I need to kick both of you out?”

      “No, we’re good.” Clarke smiled at Emori. “Keep up the good work with that spear, Emori. It looks great.”

   “It’s a glob of iron right now,” reminded Emori with a raised eyebrow. "Has Murphy rubbed off on you?"

     "Hey..." Murphy growled.  

Clarke shook her head. 

   “I have full confidence in you to make a majestic spear, how about that?” 

   “Ugh get out of here you two." Emori waved her hand and shooed them, obviously tired and annoyed of their quarrel. "Stop interrupting my work.”

   “Yes ma’am.” Clarke said.

   “I’ll see you later,” said Murphy.

   Wanting to give the couple some privacy, Clarke grabbed the cloak that was on the table and exited the house. Contrary to the glowing darkness of Emori’s forge, outside was bright and sunny with just a hint of wind. Due to the constant need to keep the furnace burning, Emori’s forge was located in a small isolated spot on Agarthi’s northern peninsula. That way, should Emori lose control of the furnace or a fire starts on the premises, nothing would spread to the other houses. It’s lonely and quiet sometimes, but Emori likes to listen to the silence of the lagoon and Murphy would row a boat out to keep her company when there’s time. So all things considered, one of her clan members was happy and the thought made Clarke smile.

   Treading carefully, Clarke climbed down the small steps leading to the water and quickly got into the anchored boat several feet away from her. Once she got in, she shaded her eyes with a hand and stared out into the water expanding over the horizon. From where she stood on the boat, Clarke could see the looming magnificence of the Takama Gates, the twenty feet tall gated barrier that spanned the entire length of Agarthi’s northern side and then some. If anyone wanted safe passage, they would have to walk several miles on the only bridge that connected Agarthi to the mainland on feet and enter Agarthi through the Takama Gates. It was the only way to her city and Clarke was glad of the extensive security measures her clan had taken to keep Agarthi safe. Despite the casual way Clarke had introduced the city to Bellamy, Agarthi was a bit more difficult to explain than ‘waterfalls, hot springs, and floating markets’. A metropolis of its own merit, Agarthi was a bustling grid-like city that spanned the lengths of a couple dozen small islands all connected together by canals or bridges.  

     "What did you dream of?" Murphy asked when he returned, joining Clarke on the boat with a sharp jump.

     The boat rocked and Murphy quickly balanced himself on his feet. As her second grabbed the oars tied to the sides of the boat, Clarke unhooked the anchor from its place on the rocks and returned the bundle of ropes to the boat. Once the anchor was removed, Murphy began rowing. They’ve been doing things like this for so long the two of them didn’t need to ask the other for permission. They just knew what needed to be done and when, even if the two of them argued back and forth like cats and dogs over Clarke's decisions or Murphy's anger problems. Clarke took her place on one of the seats in the boat and watched the serene water in silence. Based on the direction Murphy was rowing towards, Clarke knew they were going back to the center of the city. Delphi's Castle, the citadel of Agarthi, was located on the biggest island in the center of the archipelago and the base of Delfikru’s leader.

     "I dreamt of a girl." Clarke said finally. The vivid dream was still fresh in her memories and Clarke had to shake her head to prevent herself from falling back into its dark depths. "Her mother trapped her in a cave and she had to fend for herself."

     "Should I send out a search team?" Murphy asked, his eyes still on the destination.

Two passengers on a boat several feet away waved their way but Murphy ignored them. 

     "No," replied Clarke. "This was a long time ago. Like you said, a nightmare." 

     “It could be worse,” her second said after some time. “You could have died.”

     “And where would Delfikru be without their leader, right?” Clarke smiled.

     “Probably erased from existence.”

     “You probably would be. Everyone else would have lived.”

Murphy scoffed at Clarke’s hypothesis.

     “I’ll have you know I am best at surviving.”

Clarke absentmindedly nodded her head.

     “I’m sure.”

     After the teasing jokes were exchanged, the two of them fell into a comfortable silence that was occasionally broken when citizens of the city approached to greet Clarke. Having decided to return to the castle via the canals, farmers, merchants, scholars, and normal citizens alike pulled up their boats up next to Clarke’s and conversed with her. Each time someone opted to greet Clarke to talk about yield of crop, the city’s infrastructure, or when the last gift from her consort would arrive, Murphy would send death glares to everyone who dared to interrupt their trek back. By the time they pulled their boat up to the castle’s front gate, it was almost noon.

     Angry at how long it had taken, Murphy got off the boat in a huff. The soldiers standing guard at the entrance to the gate came forward and helped secure the boat. Clarke thanked them for their aid and quickly followed Murphy. Reminiscent of a floating city on the water, Delphi’s Castle sat on a small mountain overlooking the rest of Agarthi. Most of the structures were built before the destruction of the world and her clan simply renovated it for the leader. The four acres of land, forestry, and waterfalls was nothing compared to the stone castle itself with its abundance of terraces and turrets.

    Clarke personally didn’t like how big the castle was. Apart from the monthly city-wide meetings and occasional arrivals of dignitaries, it was barren most of the time and that was bothersome for her. Having realized that she had lost Murphy, Clarke looked around and found him walking to the stables several yards away. She couldn’t help but smile. The castle was only a ten minute walk from the entrance gate where they were and he wanted to get horses for the journey. That was one lazy boy. It wasn’t as if they were in a hurry to go… Clarke’s vision suddenly blurred and the world swayed into chaos with her.

   “Bellamy!”

   Clarke lacerated through the Grounder in front of her, feeling the sharpness of her blade slicing through the man’s neck. Blood poured the cut like a stream and the man fell, the marks of Sankru visible on his bare arms. She spotted Bellamy several feet from her and rushed to Skaikru’s leader. As she neared she grasped his shoulder as support and booted the man at Bellamy’s rear, slaughtering him with one slash of her blade.

   “Get back to the car,” Bellamy shouted.

   “The car can’t help us,” Clarke said in a deep throaty voice that wasn’t her own.

    She turned and kicked one of the attackers in the head, grunting when a sword barely missed her face. It was as if the attackers were multiplying by means of magic because as soon as one fell, another attacker took their place to battle her. She tried to parry as much as she could but one could only do so much with three different assailants all bearing their weapons down on her. Just as she thrust a sword through a man’s chest, she felt a sharp jab on her side.

    Clarke cried out in pain and pulled her sword out of the man stuck in front of him. Blood gushed from the undoubtedly dead body and her own body. The hot liquid splattered all over her, streaming down her face and stomach like a river. Clarke raised her sword again, ready to attack the dozen or so Grounders who surrounded them, but paused for just a second as she saw her reflection on her bloodied sword. The person staring back at her wasn’t what she expected. Lincoln was not what she expected.

   Clarke snapped out of her vision, her body swaying just a little before strong arms caught her and straightened her. She blinked several times to get rid of the blood that had singed itself into her vision and looked up to see Murphy. Yes, that’s right. She was back at the gate of the castle, the guards who greeted her had just finished anchoring the boat they had arrived in, and Murphy had secured them two horses. She wasn’t in danger. She was never in danger. But someone else was.

   “Leave,” Clarke said pushing Murphy away.

   “What?” Murphy asked, confused. “Woman, we just got here.”

   “Leave now,” she said again more urgently this time. As if sensing her unease, Murphy straightened up and dropped the reins on the horses. “Bellamy and Lincoln are in danger.”

   “Where?” He asked. “When?”

   “I don’t know. They’re on their way to us now and they’ll be ambushed by a group of Sankru soon. I…” Clarke paused, trying to remember all the details she had glimpsed. What other detail could she give him? What else did she see except the splatter of blood and gore and the distinct sound of men dying? “I could hear the ocean. They’re near the shore. That’s all I know. Take the motor boat and some soldiers with you. Go find them. You know what to do.”

   Clarke didn’t watch Murphy leave. Instead, she quickly mounted one of the horses Murphy had prepared for her and jolted the animal to a full sprint. Even if Murphy arrive with some soldiers ready aid Bellamy and Lincoln, Clarke knew in her heart that her crew wouldn’t be able to help much before Lincoln gets injured. That’s why Clarke was rushing to the castle right now. Among one of the six gifts that Bellamy of Skaikru had given her for their upcoming blood binding, one was a radio. When Nathan Miller had visited three days prior, the man had painstakingly instructed her on its purpose and how to use it. If she could just get to the instrument and use it to radio Bellamy, she could warn him of the attack before it happens.

   When the horse neared the arched doorway of the castle, Clarke jumped off the beast. She opened the wooden door and entered, not bothering to secure her horse. Beautiful stained glass double doors in the main entrance greeted her. A pair of old marble staircases formed an arch over the doors and twisted itself this way and that until the two staircases conjoined at another set of double doors leading to the second floor. If someone had a meeting to attend to at the castle, they would make their way through the stained glass doors to the great hall. But Clarke wasn’t a guest and she hurriedly made her way up one of the staircases to the second floor.

   The two servants standing guard at the top of the stairs opened the door for her and she whizzed past them without a word to enter her bedchamber down the hall. It was a lavishly adorned room with dark green draperies on the windows, furs from various animals lining the floor, and a big round canopy bed that took up most of the room. As soon as she spotted the console table sitting near the windows overlooking the eastern side of Agarthi, she made her way to it and opened the drawer compartment. All the gifts she had received from Bellamy were kept in there and she scanned the pile for a moment before picking up a small black radio. She lifted the small device up to her face and looked it, trying to remember what Nathan Miller had told her about its operations.

   “This is Clarke. Bellamy, are you there?” Clarke said into the radio. There was nothing but silence on the other line. She tried again. “This is Clarke with a message for Bellamy. Are you there?”

   “Clarke?”

   At the sound of her name, Clarke turned around and immediately caught sight of Raven standing at the threshold of the door. The tanned young woman looked like she had just woken up from a nap because her usually tied back brown hair hugged her oval face in rivulets and her dark drab dress was missing the signature red jacket. Clarke inwardly let out a sigh of relief. Out of all the people in Delfikru, Raven was the most technologically skilled. If anyone knew how to work the radio or at least fix it, it would be Raven.

   “Raven,” Clarke said, walking over to the said girl with the radio in her hand. When she reached the woman, she handed her the radio. “You were there when Miller trained me. Help me work this thing.”

   “What’s going on?” Raven asked warily, eyeing Clarke as she took the radio. “Did you kill Murphy? Do I need to help you hide his body?”

   “There will come a day where I kill Murphy,” Clarke smiled at the joke. “Sadly today is not that day.”

   “Why are you calling for the Blake boy?” Raven asked. She pressed a button on the radio and spoke into it. “Black bird to freckle spots, black bird to freckle spots.”

If the situation was different, Clarke would have laughed out loud at the odd nicknames. But the frown on Raven’s face told Clarke the woman wouldn’t figure out the radio any time soon and she wasn’t amused as she should be.

   “I’m going to talk to the servants and ask them to get things ready. I’ll be back.” Clarke paused, glancing down at radio in Raven’s hand, and then looked back up the woman. “Fix it.”

Clarke walked out of her bed chamber and made her way down the hall. The two servants who had opened the door for her the first time opened the door a second time and greeted her with a deep bow of their heads.

   “Is there only two of you today?” Clarke asked.

   “Elder Eurina is teaching a class in the eastern wing.” One of them answered. “We have three servants there. But there are only two of us here.”

   “Okay… Okay…” Clarke muttered, trying to think. Due to the massive size of the castle and the lack of occupants, she usually didn't keep more than a handful of servants on call. She was regretting that decision very much right now. “Go fetch more servants. We’re going to have some guests today. I need enough hot water to generously bath two people, old man Cenzo and his medical bag, and two guest rooms to be prepared for occupancy. Make sure to bring a lot of linens as well. I’m sure they’ll be bleeding all over the place.” The servants looked at her in alarm but she quickly dismissed it. “It’s hard to explain.”

   “Is there anything else you like?”

Clarke thought for a moment.

   “Oh, and please send for a cook. Murphy will be hungry and god knows his temper flares like a mad man when he’s hungry.”

   “Yes, heda.”

   The two servants, mind filled with tasks at hand, immediately left to do what was discussed. Now alone in the main entrance hall, Clarke gave herself a moment to breath and digest what had happened. Like her mother before her, Clarke was gifted with the power of premonition. For as long as she remembered, Clarke has been bombarded with visions at random moments all through her life. Sometimes it came after warnings of faintly seeing and hearing things that weren’t actually there. She would be walking in a deserted street and suddenly see people encroaching in the edges of her vision. The vision would essentially take over her after a few seconds and she would be immersed in its grasp for however long such episodes lasted.

     Sometimes, it came with no warning at all. Like the one earlier, the vision would take her by complete surprise and throw her into its chaotic depths. What made the visions more difficult to deal and ignore was the fact that Clarke became the person whose life she was looking into. Whatever happens in her vision, she wasn’t standing on the sidelines watching the events take place. She actually became the person and it made it all the more personal.

   “Clarke,” Raven’s voice called.

   Clarke snapped out of her daze and turned around to see Raven limping down the hallway with the radio in her hand. Suddenly remembering the limp, she rushed over and reached Raven in record time before the latter could even take three steps with her bad leg. She took hold of the radio.

   “Is it functioning correctly?” She asked Raven. “Did you get a hold of Bellamy?”

   “I heard him talk to someone back at their base. Wells?”

Clarke nodded, silently thanking Raven, and pressed the button on the radio.

   “Bellamy Blake, this is Clarke. Do you read me?”

The white noise continued on from the radio. A second later, there was a buzz and someone spoke.

   “Clarke?” Bellamy’s confused voice echoed in the empty hallway. “What’s going on? Why are you calling?”

   “You’re about to be ambushed.” Clarke immediately replied back. “I don’t care what you’re doing right now but drop everything, get back to the car, and get somewhere safe. You’re about to be ambushed. Do you hear me, Bellamy? You’re about to be ambushed.”

There was no answer from the other line except Lincoln’s urgent shout cutting through from the radio.

   “Grounders!”

    The radio went silent after that. Clarke wanted to shout into the radio, to say something that would help them, to warn them that Lincoln will be severely injured and they needed to be careful, but she knew she couldn’t. Understanding that what came next was no longer in Clarke’s control, she let go of the radio button and turned to Raven with a grave look on her face. Raven stared back, confused at the turn of events, but unsure where to start the questions.    

   “Which clan…?” Raven’s voice trailed.  

   “Sankru.” Clarke replied. “But I don’t know why they would even attack. The Commander’s Truce is still valid.”

    She pursed her lips and thought back on her vision. There were a few scratches on Bellamy already when her vision started and at least five Sankru had already been incapacitated. How long did Murphy have to get to Bellamy and Lincoln before Lincoln gets hurt? Why was Sankru even attacking Skaikru’s leader? It wasn’t as if the road Bellamy took was in Sankru’s territory.

      Sankru shouldn’t have ventured so far south, considering their city was somewhere to the west. They had no business ambushing Bellamy at all. Unless… Unless they were instructed to do so. Lexa was the Commander and they all swore fealty to her when they joined the Coalition. If the Commander wanted it, there was nothing Sankru could do but to obey, right? At the awful realization, an overwhelming sense of rage sparked inside of Clarke.

   “God damn it!” Clarke shouted, slamming her clenched fist on the banister of the marble staircase. The reverberating sound echoed in the entrance hall. “How could I have been so stupid? Why did I think she would let me do what I promised without interfering with her Commander bullshit?”

   “Hold on, am I missing something?” Raven looked at Clarke, a frown on her face. “You think Lexa facilitated this? But why? I thought Lexa wants this blood binding to happen.”

   “It’s not about the binding. She wants the binding. It’s about...” Clarke looked at the inquisitiveness on Raven’s face and stopped herself from spilling out the visions her mother foresaw. Raven wasn’t supposed to know. No one was supposed to know that her mother had predicted Bellamy would try to dismantle centuries’ worth of Grounder traditions and decimate Polis in a year’s time. That secret was only for Lexa, Clarke, and the woman who made the prophecy herself. Clarke let out a little laugh and cleared her throat. “It doesn’t matter right now. Thank you for helping me with the radio.”

Raven was not fooled by her distraction, Clarke was sure of it, but thankfully she said nothing about Lexa. 

   “I didn't help much.” The woman said. 

   “No, no. You helped a lot. And I already sent Murphy to fetch them so they should be back soon.”

At the mention of her consort, Raven's signature smirk appeared on her face.  

   “Oh yeah, freckle spots and Lincoln right?”

Clarke let out a groan.

   “Does everyone know that they’re coming?”

   “Murphy has a big mouth.”

   “Apparently." Clarke rolled her eyes. "I need to sew his mouth shut.” 

The two of them chuckled at Murphy’s expense.

   “You can’t blame Murphy though. Everyone wants to know all the details of the blood binding.”

   “It’s a blood binding last I checked. It’s nothing special.”

   “But you’re our leader, Clarke." Raven said with a hint of admiration in her voice. "That makes it special.”

Clarke smiled at Raven’s words.

   “Scary wolf to little girl,” Murphy’s voice suddenly buzzed from the radio. Clarke lifted the radio to her face and listened. “Scary wolf to little girl.”

At the sound of her second’s teasing voice, she let out a sigh of relief.

   “I’m not a little girl, but go on.” Clarke said into the radio.

   “I found your consort and his guide.” Murphy reported. “Lincoln is passed out. He’s being tended to by Monty but he needs medical attention. You better call Cenzo or someone.”

   “It’s been done.” Clarke stated.

   As she said this, the main entrance door opened and a dozen servants entered with materials in their hands. Clarke and Raven looked up from their spot huddled over the radio and waved the servants in. Some were carrying piles of neatly folded linens and some were carrying baskets of food. They greeted Clarke with the usual fist to the left breast before separating to do whatever Clarke had assigned them to do. Trailing behind the entourage of servants was Cenzo, one of the clan's oldest healers. He slowly made his way up the stairs, his cane made of bones making loud echoing sounds against the marble. A servant burdened with Cenzo’s medical bags followed him up.

   “Your consort is being a _fucking_ _douchebag_.” At the mention of Bellamy, Murphy raised his voice as loud as he could as if Bellamy was right in front of him and shouted into it. The sound of muffled screams could be heard in the background. Clarke and Raven looked at each other, not liking the sound. “He’s refusing to cooperate because we’re Grounders and if he wasn’t your consort, I would kill him where he stands.”

   “Do you want to start a war, asshole?” Raven asked into the radio.

Clarke looked up as Cenzo approached and accepted the healer's silent nod of acknowledgement. The old man passed through the doors leading to the bedchambers without another word and she turned back to the conversation in the radio.  

   “Raven?” Murphy snorted. “Woke up from your vampiric slumber, did you?”

   “No one in their right mind should wake up at 3 in the fucking morning Murphy. Only you do!”

   “Where are you guys now?” Clarke interrupted, eyeing the way Raven vehemently muttered about castrating Murphy under her breath. “And don’t you dare hurt my consort.”

   “Yeah well, it’s a bit late for that. I smacked him a few times and he’s missing a tooth so...” Clarke groaned at the thought, the image of Skaikru’s leader coming to Agarthi with a bloody mouth and no teeth whatsoever singed into her brain. “We’re on the water, passing Takama now. We’ll be there in five minutes.”

   “We’ll be waiting.”

   When Murphy burst into the main entrance hall five minutes later, Clarke was making her way up the grand staircase with some towels. At his arrival, she turned and looked down at the entourage he brought with him. It was clear that the two other Delphi Clan warriors who accompanied him were strong enough to take down the two dozen men that ambushed Skaikru and Clarke was glad of it. It meant that her clan members were trained well despite the circumstances.

      The warriors were carrying Lincoln on a stretcher and he looked worse for wear with blood seeping through his attire rather rapidly. She could tell that Monty, one of Cenzo’s apprentices, had tried to stop the bleeding but there were too many wounds to count and Monty was unable to put pressure on all of them. Behind him, Bellamy came forward with his mouth gagged and his hands restricted in chains. The anger on his face was more than enough to tell Clarke he didn’t like her people’s treatment of him. Like Lincoln, he also looked worse for wear but he was in a much better shape than his friend with no visible bleeding wound. All the blood caked on his face was not his own. 

   “Your consort and his guide,” Murphy said with a lavish bow of his head.

   “Bring Lincoln up. Cenzo is waiting for him.” Clarke said to Monty. The apprentice healer nodded his head and he made his way up to the bedchambers on the second floor with Lincoln following right behind him. She turned back to the smirking Murphy and the Skaikru leader and let out a sigh of exasperation. “Why is Bellamy Blake in chains?”

   “I told you, he was being irrationally stupid and I had to knock some sense into him.”

   “By gagging and chaining him?” Clarke asked with a raised eyebrow. “Was that necessary?”

   “He’s angry and volatile.” Murphy warned. “I wasn’t going to risk my men getting murdered because your boy refused to believe we’re the good guys.”

Clarke sighed.

      “Where is the Sankru you captured?”

     “Outside by the door.”

     “Bring him in to the throne room.”

   Knowing he was dismissed, Murphy walked out of the door in search of his captive Sankru. Clarke looked at Bellamy one more time, making sure that he wasn’t severely injured in any way, and beckoned at him from where she stood.

   “Come on, let me show you to your room.”

   Without waiting for his acknowledgement, Clarke turned around and continued walking up the steps. The distinct sounds of Bellamy’s chains swiveling and clinking together let her know he was following so when she reached the entrance door to the second floor, she held it open for him. They walked down the silent hallway for a minute or two before she led him into one of the bedrooms. She watched as he entered and closed the door behind her, noticing how he was desperately trying to untie his hands as he looked around. Taking pity on him, Clarke walked over and tried to grab the chain that was binding him but he jerked his hands away.

   “I’m trying to help you,” Clarke said looking straight into his eyes. He glared at her and tried to say something but the clothed gag in his mouth muffled the sound. “I’m not the enemy, Bellamy. I’m sorry Murphy tied you up. But judging from what he said, you weren’t cooperating and they were losing time. Did you want Lincoln to die from the blood loss?" He did not say anything to the question. Clarke took that as a sign of his acquiescence. "I’m going to remove that gag now, alright? Don’t bite my fingers off.”

    Confident that he understood where she was coming from, Clarke carefully removed the gag from his mouth and wrinkled her nose at the sight of blood on the wad of fabric. She definitely needed to talk to Murphy about treating non-Delfikru members harshly. No longer gagged, Bellamy slowly moved his jaws to regain feeling of his mouth. He glared at her as he did this, his anger not once dying down. For some reason, Clarke had an inkling of suspicion he was not just angry at Murphy for binding and gagging him.

   “You knew.” Bellamy hissed when he regained control of his face, spitting on the ground in front of her.

The two words alone confirmed her suspicions and Clarke nodded her head in a silent ‘ah’ moment.

   “Knew what?” Clarke asked. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

   “You knew we were coming. You knew we were going to be ambushed. I thought I could trust you, Clarke. Was I wrong?”

    The seething anger in his eyes made sense now. Of course he was suspecting her of being in on the plan to overthrow Skaikru’s leader and kill him. Of fucking course. Out of all the people who knew Bellamy and Lincoln were coming to Agarthi, he just had to get angry and suspicious of her even though it was she who sent a rescue team for him. Why did she think he would, at the very least, be grateful? Clarke resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his accusation and stared at Bellamy with a deadpanned expression on her face.

   “I knew you were coming to us, yes. But the matters of when and where and how were not made known to me. When I found out you would be ambushed, I immediately sent Murphy out to help you. If it wasn’t for my people, both you and Lincoln would be dead. I thought I had garnered your trust after Mount Weather, Bellamy. Was _I_ wrong?”

Bellamy’s chest rose and fell and he clenched his jaws. She glared back at him, challenging him to say anything with a quirk of her eyebrow.

    “Do you honestly expect me to believe that you had nothing to do with the ambush? The only people who knew we were coming today were my people and your peop---”

   “And everyone at Polis,” Clarke interrupted him. She stepped closer to him, her voice getting louder as she spoke. Although Clarke understood Bellamy’s hostility, she also felt slightly offended at his accusations. If she was in on the ambush, would she have rescued him? Would she have sent her most trusted warrior to fetch him from the dirty depths of blood and gore? No, she wouldn’t. She would have let him die. “Might I remind you that our blood binding is a matter of public knowledge? Let me be clear to you. The moment you agreed to the binding, the clock started clicking down. I sent my gifts to you every single day and so did you. Only a fool would not be able to count down when the final day is and when you would make your journey here as traditions dictated. You should have been cautious if you didn’t want to die.”

    “Then how did you know we were about to be ambushed?”

Clarke inwardly winced at the question. She had expected him to ask the question eventually, but she had no straight answers to give him at the moment.

   “That’s intel I can’t tell you.” She said after a pause. “But let me reassure you it’s a trustworthy source.”

Bellamy narrowed his eyes, not at all satisfied with her answer.

    “And did your _source_ happen to tell you who wants us dead?”

   “No.”

He scoffed at her answer.

    “Trustworthy my ass.”

         Clarke stared at the angry hostile man in front of her. He looked so different now compared to the first time she saw him in that control room back at Mount Weather. This was the second time they were alone after that night and she never thought it would be a hostile reunion. If anything, she thought they would get along, act jovial, and perhaps share a laugh or two over shared interests. But perhaps that was too idealistic of her.

    Could she blame him though? Just 30 minutes before, he and his companion were almost killed by Grounders. 3 months before that, his people would have been decimated had it not been for his and Wells’ quick decision making. Skaikru had been hurt by Grounders, so what made her think she could change their leader’s hostile prejudiced view on her people? What made her think he would trust her implicitly like she trusted him? Even if she told him the truth about how she got her information, he would never believe her. He’ll think it was some sort of lame attempt at misdirection at best or she was trying to ridicule his intelligence at worst. Clarke took a deep breath and let out a sigh, her mind muddled. She needed a breather to think about things.

   “I’m going to see if Lincoln is okay.” She said with finality, making her way to the door.

   “Seriously?” Clarke turned back to look at him, her hand holding the door open. Standing there in the middle of the room with blood caked on his face, Bellamy made for an imposing figure. He gestured towards the chains on his hands, the clink clank of the metal chains reverberating in the quiet bedchamber. “You’re not going to unchain me?”

   “That depends. Are you done being a child?”

   “A child?” Bellamy laughed sardonically. “Oh I’m the child now? You’re the one who is being cryptic about where you get your information.”

   “I don’t have to tell you everything, Bellamy.”

    “We’re getting married. You should.” Bellamy spat back.

Clarke crossed her arms and leaned against the door, trying her best to exude an image of calm even though she was anything but.

   “What changed, Bellamy?” She asked. “You were fine six days ago at the start of the gift exchange. Yes, you were ambushed and had to fight for your life today but Delfikru saved you like a proper ally would. And now you’re trying to blame us, blame me, for everything? Accusing people without evidence is not your style.”

   “You don’t know what my style is.”

   “Then explain it to me why you’re so hostile towards us and maybe I’ll understand.”

   “The Chancellor told me not to take everything at face value, your offer for help included. I vouched you. Wells and I vouched for you, Clarke.” He paused. “But your lack of cooperation makes me think you’re withholding something. I’m not sure I believe this marriage is the right path for my people. If you’re unwilling to tell me who your source is, what else are you also unwilling to tell me?”

   “The Commander demands a blood binding,” said Clarke. _Or your head on a pike,_ she thought to herself but she didn’t say that. “To refuse now, on the last day of the gift exchange and a week before our marriage, is idiotic.”

   “Is it? I have a lot of questions but you’re refusing to answer all of them. Is that what will happen when we get married?” Bellamy sneered. “I ask questions and you refuse to answer because it’s not my business?”

    “I didn’t withhold any other information from you,” Clarke argued. “When the time is right, I’ll tell you who the source is. But for now, can’t you just believe me? After everything I’ve done, surely you can trust me on this.”

    “You helped me pull a lever. So what? Don’t pull that on me every time we fight. It’s not going to work.” Bellamy scoffed. He moved his hands as if to slam it against something but the chains wouldn’t let him. Instead, he let out a shout of frustration. The pent up anger that simmered in his entire body was now threatening to explode. “You know Jaha asked me this when I told him about the marriage proposal and I brushed it off. But now that you’re here, tell me where you were when we were at war with the Mountain? If you were so noble, why didn’t you ask your Commander to not betray us Wanheda? Why did you only come at the end of the battle and why did you stay when I pulled the lever?”

    “It doesn’t matter why.” Clarke replied uneasily, knowing that he would not like her answer as soon as the words left her lips. “I wanted to help you. Shouldn’t that suffice?”

    “No! I don’t know what your motive is. You’re telling me to trust you Clarke, but I don’t know anything about you and I don’t like that feeling.” Bellamy reached his bound hands up to drag his dirty fingers through his hair in frustration. “You could be plotting to kill us for all I know. People I risked everything for. So yes! It does matter why you’re doing this. People kept reminding me that you’re a Grounder, that you're the almighty Wanheda who also happens to be Lexa's favorite. Then why, pray tell, did you even help me pull that lever? Your Commander wanted us dead. Shouldn’t you have liste—”

   “Because I know how it feels!” Clarke shouted over Bellamy’s frantic voice. He stopped mid-sentence and looked at her, his protests dying silently on his opened lips. “I know how it feels to be _so_ desperate that you would do just about anything to save the ones you love. I know what it means to be haunted for the rest of your life no matter how many times you try to repent for your sins. For all the times you killed in the name of love. _I. Know_.” At the crack in her voice, Clarke paused and looked away from the man in front of her. No longer going on an angry rant, she was suddenly aware of the dryness in her mouth and the tears stinging her eyes. Clarke cleared her throat and glanced back at him after a second. The stunned look on his face told her he did not expect her to fight back or answer her questions and Clarke felt almost ashamed of her outburst. Unlike his, hers was unwarranted. Bellamy made a move to say something but she gathered her strength and spoke first, trying to sound as calm as possible. “That’s why I pulled the lever with you, Bellamy. I didn’t want you to bear that burden alone. No one should.”

            The silence after Clarke’s tirade was deafening. Bellamy had lowered his gaze and refused to look at her, lost in his own tortured memories of pulling that lever. Was he remembering the threats Cage made? Or the screams of his people as Cage’s doctors drilled into them? Or was he remembering all the nightmares he had after the fact? She lowered her gaze to the floor, trying to block out old memories trying to resurface at the mere mention of what she had done. Clarke wondered if Bellamy knew. Did Lincoln tell him what she had done to get the coveted Wanheda title? Is that why he mentioned her title as if he was trying to use that against her? Did he know about all the people she killed and the livelihoods she took?

            Grounders from the mainland feared her. They revered her. Even though it was they who had pushed her to such drastic actions, they hated her. They just didn’t know how much the title seem to mock her at its every mention. How could they? To them, she was almost like a god. That’s what happens when you decimate an entire army within a night. The thought that Bellamy knew and judged her, even though he was on the same boat as her not too long ago, made her sick to her stomach.

    “Would you like to be there when I question the grounder Murphy captured?” Clarke asked, breaking the silence. Bellamy looked up at her and slowly nodded his head. The anger that had controlled his face and body vanished and what replaced that anger was a mixture of confusion and defeat. Clarke tried not to gaze directly into his eyes. She didn’t want to see the pity there. “Very well. Follow me.”

   “Are you going to unchain me?” Bellamy asked quietly.

Clarke looked at the chains on Bellamy’s hands and slowly shook her head.

   “No, I would rather keep it that way.”

She turned and walked out the door. Bellamy quickly followed her, trying his best to catch up with her fast pace.

   “I thought we were supposed to trust each other.” The man said. “What happened?”

   “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Clarke replied bitterly.

Bellamy muttered something to himself, but said nothing. Clarke found she rather liked it that way. At least if he's muttering about under his breath, he wouldn't accuse her of betraying him. Even if he didn't know it then, one day he would thank her for saving his life. One day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. Post-apocalyptic version of Venice? What ludicrous notion. But it happened, what can I do about it? I was tired of reading about cities built from the scraps of the old world and needed to add some water and mysticism to it. Bite me. Yes, Raven and Monty had minor roles in this chapter but they'll make more of an appearance later. Lol. I hope you guys like the chapter.


	4. Monsters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I have no excuses.

**04; Monster**

 

Bellamy regretted blowing up like he did as soon as he heard Clarke’s voice crack. The desperate almost pained look she gave him made his heart ache. Honestly, they weren’t even married yet and he was already causing her trouble and making her cry.

So now they walked, the awkward aftermath represented in the awful silence that followed their echoing footsteps. Clarke refused to answer any other questions he had and he was too embarrassed by his choice of words to start another conversation. Instead, he took a good look around the castle as they walked. As he had expected, the castle had a lot of long winding hallways illuminated by torches. Occasionally, they would pass a window here or there but natural lighting seemed sparse.  

After a five minute walk further into the belly of the castle, they reached the throne room. The entrance was a pair of ornate glass doors with a mural of flowers and birds marked in stained glass and looked as gorgeous as the entrance to one of the rooms at back at the front of the castle. But unlike the other entrance, there were no guards here. In fact, Bellamy noticed they didn’t run into any servants or patrolling soldiers. He made a mental note to ask why. Without so much as a ‘ta-dah, throne room is here’, Clarke opened the double doors and entered the chamber.  

The throne room was a relatively small space with a giant wrap around floor to ceiling window that illuminated the throne room on the left side. The window offered a picturesque vantage point of the natural landscape outside and brought in more than enough light for whatever activities taking place there. Apart from a delicately carved wooden chair on top of a raised dais, the place was barren.

The prisoner Murphy caught was now currently tied to a shoddy looking chair in the center of the room. Murphy was sitting near the back wall, sharpening the blades on his two daggers in a bored but intimidating manner. When he heard the door open, he turned his head and waved to them with daggers in hand. 

“It’s about time,” said Murphy.  

As soon as Murphy’s greeting ended, the two daggers went flying towards them without any warning. Bellamy raised his chained hands up in an effort to block the daggers and moved his body out of the way of the incoming attack. But when he looked over at Clarke, he realized she did no such thing.

He was about to shout at her to move away but as soon as the daggers were within arm’s length, Clarke did a sweeping upward kick that knocked both daggers to the ground inches from Murphy’s side. How she did it without sustaining any injuries was beyond Bellamy and he couldn’t help but stare at her in awe. Despite what had just transpired Clarke had a look of nonchalance that left him wondering if avoiding Murphy’s attacks was just another daily chore for her to manage. Unfazed, Clarke made her way to Murphy and Bellamy quietly followed behind her. 

“I saw it coming you dolt,” Clarke said to Murphy. She offered a hand and helped him up. “Has he said anything?” 

“No.” Murphy glanced at Bellamy and frowned. “Why is he still in chains?” 

Clarke shrugged.  

“Reasons. Do you want to unchain him?”  

Murphy took another look at Bellamy and made a face.  

“Not really.”  

“Guys, I’m right here.” Bellamy said indignantly.  

Clarke and Murphy looked at each other, fighting an inner battle with just their eyes alone. When Murphy let out a frustrated groan and went to him, Bellamy knew Clarke had won. Murphy begrudgingly untied the big knot of chains on Bellamy’s hand and threw the chains on the floor besides him. As soon as he was free, the pressure around his wrists dissipated and he let out a sigh of relief. 

   “Do you need my whip?” Murphy asked Clarke, gesturing towards the leather weapon tied around his hips.  

Clarke looked at Bellamy and raised an eyebrow. Murphy turned to him as well.  

            “Do you want to interrogate him?” She asked. “He did try to kill you after all.”  

Bellamy thought for a moment and nodded his head. Absentmindedly rubbing his wrists, Bellamy made his way to the prisoner and stood in front of him, assessing the man up and down. The prisoner’s wrists, purple and swelling from the pressure of the ropes, were inked in familiar tattoos all Grounders wear.

From what Lincoln told him, he knew each clan had different insignias to signify their position in said clan. But this Grounder’s tattoos were unrecognizable to him. He was not Trikru, Azgeda, or Delfikru. The paint that hid his face was wiped off, undoubtedly during his capture, and there were several new lacerations on his body and face from a knife or a dagger of some type. Bellamy glanced back at Murphy’s two daggers where Clarke had deposited them last in a moment of understanding and turned his focus back to the prisoner.  

“What’s your name?” He asked. At the sound of his voice, the man opened his eyes. He said nothing, opting to stare at Bellamy with a blank look on his face. From what he could see, the prisoner seemed cognizant of where he was and the situation he was in. Bellamy repeated the question again, louder this time. “What is your name?” 

Again, there was no answer. The prisoner didn’t even acknowledge him. Irked at the dismissal, Bellamy raised his fist and punched him several times. The impact of the blows caused the lacerations on his face to open up even more and a deep heavy bruise began to take shape. Thin lines of blood began to drip from his face like tears.  

“What is your name?”  

The prisoner grunted at the pain from the punch but said nothing. Behind him, he could hear Clarke and Murphy whispering to each other. A moment later, Murphy stepped up to stand beside him and the prisoner’s attention went to him.  

            “ _Bellomi kom Skaikru don as yu prom op_.” Murphy commanded.  

The prisoner scoffed at Murphy’s command and spat in Bellamy’s direction. The glob of slick blood and saliva landed on his shirt and began to drip down, just like the lines of blood on the prisoner’s face.  

            “ _Em de laik baga_.” The prisoner hissed.  

The anger that burned in the prisoner’s eyes was almost lethal and Bellamy had the urge to smack his head again. But he refrained and calmly asked Murphy to translate, wiping the mix of blood of saliva from his dirty shirt. His eyes never once left the prisoner’s.  

            “He said you are the enemy.” Murphy said. A second later, Murphy nudged Bellamy and offered him the whip he had offered Clarke when they first arrived. “I don’t know how you do it up in the sky but asking questions and letting them spit on you is no way to interrogate someone.”  

            “Enough of your shit,” Bellamy said.  

But regardless of Murphy’s sass and his own rebuttal, Bellamy took the proffered whip. The situation reminded him of the time when they captured their first Grounder. Like Lincoln, the man before him seemed unfazed by what was going on and what Bellamy was prepared to do to get the answers he needed.

Despite whipping and shocking him for hours on end, Lincoln didn’t speak a word about his people or their ways. It wasn’t until Octavia cut herself with the same blade that he finally gave in. But there was no Octavia with him now and Bellamy doubted the prisoner in front of him would cave just because there’s a beauty begging him to save her. No, he would have to think of another way.  

“Bellamy.” 

At the sound of Clarke’s voice, the prisoner jerked in his seat. Making a note of said reaction, Bellamy turned around to look at her. She was leaning against the wall in the back of the room with arms akimbo as if she was trying to blend into the shadows itself. With her dark warrior attire, she was almost as good as. But her piercing blue eyes and flowing blonde hair gave her away.  

Bellamy clenched his jaws. Proving Sky People’s worth was never a factor in the blood binding because Clarke had fought to become Lexa’s chosen. But having Clarke and Murphy standing there watching made him realize that the interrogation he was about to lead was more than just that. It was a test.

Clarke and Murphy wanted to see how strong and capable Sky People’s leader was. Should he fail in extracting the necessary information from the prisoner, it would make Sky People look weak. It would make them question his leadership skills and potentially drive them to revoke their allegiance to his people. With winter coming, that would mean death for his people. His grip on the whip in his hand tightened.  

“Do you need any help?” Clarke asked. He shook his head. He had to do it himself. As if expecting the answer, Clarke pushed herself off of the wall she was leaning against. “Very well. If you need anything, Murphy is there to assist you. I’m going to check on Lincoln.”  

With that said, Clarke left Bellamy and Murphy to their own devices. The two of them looked at each other and then at the prisoner in front of them.  

            “So how do you want to do this?” Murphy asked. He made his way to the two daggers he had discarded and quickly removed them from the floor, returning to Bellamy’s side with a feral look on his face.  

            “We start by you telling me what clan he’s from and we’ll go from there.”  

            “You see this?” Murphy pointed to the tattoos marking the prisoner’s arm with the tip of one of his daggers. As if proud of the intricate concentric tattoos, the prisoner turned his arm a little to show off his clan’s insignia. “That’s Sankru, desert folk to you. They’re the isolated type and don’t usually go this far south.” 

Bellamy let the information sink in for a moment. If he remembered correctly, Lincoln told him Sankru’s base was to the far west of the region. So why did they target him? As far as he knew, Sankru held no grudge against his people apart from the incident with the drop ship. But that was done and over with. They, along with most of Lexa’s army, took their revenge when they left Bellamy and his people to go up against the Mountain. Surely that was enough? He turned to the prisoner, watching as the Grounder focused his attention on him.  

“Why did you attack us?” Bellamy asked, purposely cracking his whip in feigned intimidation.

The prisoner let out a huff and turned his face away from Bellamy. Clenching his jaws, Bellamy swung the whip forward and hit the prisoner right in the face. The direction of the whip’s attack forced the prisoner’s face to turn back to Bellamy and the man glared with a fire that could burn for years. “If you don’t tell me who gave the order to kill me, so god help me I will whip you until your skin falls off.” 

There was a pause. And then, the prisoner spoke.  

            “Then do it.”  

            Bellamy didn’t need more prompting. As soon as the words left the prisoner’s, he swung his whip forward and began the intensive interrogation. At first, he only wanted to hit the prisoner 3-4 times before stopping so he could ask questions. But the more the prisoner kept mum, the angrier Bellamy got. So he continued to hit the prisoner, the whip lashes blending into one long blur of leather landing on supple skin. The smell of blood permeated the air. But he didn’t care.  

Why should he? This man thought he was doing the right thing for his clan, but so was Bellamy. All he ever wanted to do was protect his sister and that innate desire to protect one became the desire to protect all of the 100. He didn’t care how many people died for his cause as long as his people were okay.

So why did it hurt so much? Why did he feel haunted because of his choices? He made the right choice, didn’t he? Even though Harper and Miller obtained scars that will never heal, even though Jasper lost himself within his own mind from the trauma, even though hundreds of people died, he made the right choice... Right?

At the turmoil that ate away at him, Bellamy raised his arm to give the Sankru the worst pain imaginable. But just as he did so, he felt something or someone tug against the leather rope and he staggered where he stood. Bellamy snapped out of his daze and blinked, turning to look at Murphy.  

“What?” Bellamy growled out.  

“You’re supposed to be interrogating him, not torturing him.” Murphy reminded him pointedly, crossing his arms across his chest. The blades from his two daggers gleamed in their place on his forearm.  

            “What’s the difference?” Bellamy asked. “Nothing I will do will hurt him. He received his orders and he’ll die trying to carry it out. I might as well kill him.”  

            “Remember why I let him live.” Murphy said with a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Who wants you dead? Why would they risk killing you despite the truce and the binding? Kill him if you want. I could care less. But it wouldn’t help you in the long run.” 

Bellamy turned back to look at the prisoner and wrinkled his nose at the sight of lacerated skin and blood. Despite the agonizing pain he must have felt, the prisoner stared on like the pain was nothing to him. Blood adorned his body, the sharp smell permeating horridly in the room. He knew no fear. Nothing Bellamy did would scare him. But then, the memory of the Sankru cringing at Clarke’s voice calling his name came to him. It made sense. All of the grounders, no matter how big or small in the clans, feared Clarke for her title.

“You are strong, I’ll give you that.” Bellamy said, carefully choosing his words. “But are you strong enough to withstand Wanheda’s interrogation?” The warrior’s eyes flickered. “That’s right. Wanheda gave you to me because she is too important for the likes of you. She has better things to do. But if you don’t tell me what I need to know, she will interfere. Do you really want that?”

          “ _Daun ste pleni_.” The warrior hissed, his eyes moving to stare straight at Murphy. “ _Sankru nou badan disha skat op nowe. Weron Wanheda kamp raun?_ ”

          “ _Hod op_ ,” replied Murphy.

          As if on cue, the door to the throne room opened and Clarke walked in. She seemed bothered by her trip to see Lincoln but the frown on her face flattened and disappeared as she approached the group. Bellamy glanced at her before looking back at the prisoner in front of him. Even though he had asked for Wanheda, he didn’t actually expect to see her come in. As his eyes caught sight of Clarke, the prisoner twitched in his seat and his breathing became more labored and uneven.

          “How’s Lincoln?” Bellamy asked.

          “He’s alive, sleeping now.” Clarke gave him a small smile.

Bellamy nodded his head, hoping that his gratefulness showed. Knowing that he had failed in his task, he stepped to the side to stand next to Murphy.

          “ _Ai ste shoun Wanheda._ ” Murphy said to the prisoner. To Clarke, he nodded his head in acknowledgement. “He refused to answer any questions.”

          “ _Sankru nou badan disha skat op nowe._ ” The prisoner hissed again.

          “What’s he saying?” Bellamy asked.

          “Sankru does not answer to this boy,” Murphy replied with a laugh. To Clarke, he said: “He asked for you, Wanheda.”

          “Did he now?” Clarke glanced at Bellamy for a second, her expressions completely empty of any emotions and stepped up to stand in front of the prisoner. From where he stood, Bellamy could see the prisoner gulping in fear. “What is your name?”  

“Ilian.” The prisoner said without hesitation.  

Bellamy’s arm twitched. He so wanted to give the prisoner a blow to the fist for not answering his question the first time around.

“Good.” Clarke smiled. “How old are you?”  

“Twenty.”  

“And what clan are you from?” 

“You know.”

Clarke nodded her head.

“Indulge me.”

“I am from the everlasting Sankru.”  

The questions were basic and easy to answer, but those were things they already knew.  

“Why did you ambush Skaikru’s leader and his guide, Ilian?” There was no need to sugar coat the question or edge around it. Ilian knew what he had done and what that meant to Delfikru and their ally. Bellamy watched as Ilian pursed his lips and clenched his jaws in an indignant manner. “Tell me why you ambushed that man over there.”  

At the question, Ilian fell silent. Whatever cooperation he had at the beginning of her interrogation died at the utterance of her question. Clarke nodded her head in understanding. The ease of which Clarke slipped into that cold emotionless façade she had on now was a bit unsettling to watch. The pleasant composure she exuded did nothing to calm Ilian’s nerves and Bellamy knew it was intentional. If anything, her composure made him fear her even more. Clarke began to pace back and forth in front of Ilian like a panther waiting for its prey. Behind her, Murphy chuckled under his breath.  

“Ilian, do you know who I am?”  

The Sankru prisoner straightened himself as much as he could in the chair.  

“You are the Wanheda. Your story is legendary."    

She paused in her pacing and turned to him.  

          “Then what makes you think you can take my consort from me and live to tell the tale?”     

“I don’t know what to tell you, Wanheda.” Ilian replied. “I did what I was told. Nothing more.”  

Clarke’s upper lip twitched. 

“And what were your orders?” 

          “Kill Bellamy Blake and Lincoln of Trikru.”  

“Why?”  

          “I don’t know.”  

          “And you never wondered?” She scoffed. “Surely Sankru’s teachers taught you better.”  

          "They taught me how to be a warrior.” Ilian replied indignantly. 

          “A warrior with no thoughts of his own is no warrior. He’s just a pawn in a game people play.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Are you a pawn, Ilian?” 

The prisoner's arms jerked at the taunting but the restraints on him prevented him from doing anything.  

           “Say what you want. But I won’t betray my clan no matter how much your name precedes you, Wanheda.”  

          Bellamy watched as Clarke clenched her jaws, silently trying to read the prisoner in front of her. Ilian looked calm enough, but the slight tremble of his lips and body gave Clarke and Bellamy a different view of the Sankru.

He looked like he was cracking ever so slowly.

          “Then I’m sorry Ilian of Sankru, but you leave me with no other choice.” Clarke reached her hand out to the side, motioning for her second. “Murphy, bring me the ring.”  

“What?” Murphy asked, a hint of confusion in his voice at her request. “The ring holds incredible power. You can’t use it on someone like him.”

“Ilian himself can choose whether he lives or dies.” Clarke replied, unmoved by Murphy’s plea.

Bellamy watched the exchange between the two, a few thousands of questions running through his mind. Why was Murphy so hesitant? Was there a hint of fear he’s sensing from Murphy or was that just a scare tactic?

“Clarke, he’s just a pawn.” Murphy reminded his teacher.

           “I told you to bring me the ring, Murphy.” Clarke ground her teeth.

Murphy clenched his jaws but then uncrossed his arms.  

          “As you wish, Wanheda.”  

          Murphy left without another word, the door slamming behind him. Bellamy watched as Ilian tried to hold it together. The uncertainty of what the ring was made him sweat more than ever before and his resolve was breaking. When he could no longer hold it in, Ilian asked the question both he and Bellamy been waiting to know.

          “What is the ring?”

The emotion in Ilian’s voice was the most Bellamy heard through this entire interrogation.

“It’s the source of my powers.” Clarke replied nonchalantly. “It’s what made Delfikru survive the war four years ago. You were what? Sixteen? Do you even remember it?”  

          “Of course I remember!” Ilian hissed. “Many people died because of what you did." 

A chill went down Bellamy’s spine as Clarke let out a quiet giggle that didn’t quite match the atmosphere in the room.

          “That will be your fate if you don’t tell me what you know.” Ilian let out a tortured moan at her words. “I was there. I know what happened to all those people. Do you want me to tell you what you will experience? The pain you will feel?”

          “ _Beja, nou dula dison.”_ Ilian muttered. His lips trembled ever so slightly.

“I’m giving you a chance here, Ilian. Tell me who gave the kill order on Bellamy and Lincoln and I will let you live.”  

          “Shaming my clan is no way to live.” Ilian shouted. The anger in his eyes matched the fear that racked his entire body. “Your second should have killed me!” 

 Before Clarke could reply, the door to the throne room opened and Murphy walked in carrying an intricately carved wooden box. The scent of sandalwood wafted into the room. Ilian took a sniff of the scent and let out a horrifying scream that didn’t sound like the warrior Bellamy knew. He struggled against the ropes that bound him to the chair, frantically trying to find a way to escape. Just what was he so afraid of? What was this ring? What happened during the war four years ago?

“Clarke,” Bellamy spoke up, his voice uncertain. She turned to look at him. There was anger in her eyes that he couldn’t explain and he took a step back. “Maybe you shouldn’t... do this.” 

          “Do what?” 

           “Use the ring.” Bellamy glanced at the terrified prisoner behind her. “I don’t know what the ring is and what it does but… There are other ways to get the information out of him.”  

“Stay out of this, Bellamy.” Clarke turned her focus back to the Sankru prisoner just as Murphy stepped up beside her. She addressed the prisoner. "You're right. My second should have killed you. But you were not so lucky. You should have answered Bellamy’s questions when he interrogated you. But you were too stubborn. Now is your last chance, Ilian. Tell me what you know."  

Clarke held out her hand. Murphy opened the wooden box and tilted it at an angle that provided both the prisoner and Clarke with a view of the ring inside. A second later, Clarke took the ring from its place in the box and held it up in front of Ilian’s face. Murphy closed the box and returned to his spot besides Bellamy.

From his position several feet away, Bellamy could see that it was a gold ring with a pair of beautifully sculpted leaves circling a clear round moonstone at the center. As Clarke moved it closer to Ilian’s face, Bellamy noticed that was some kind of liquid moving inside the stone. Was it… poison? Ilian muttered a string of no’s and violently shook his head, the conflict he was experiencing clear in his body language. Flashes of memories bombarded Bellamy’s mind and he took a deep breath in at its arrival.

          “Clarke, don’t do this.” Bellamy pleaded, taking a few steps forward towards her.

          “Mind your place.” Murphy hissed.

Clarke’s second put a hand to his chest and pushed him back.

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Ilian.” Clarke said to her prisoner, disregarding the commotion behind her. “Tell me what you know and you will live. If not… I will put this ring on you and the poison will make you experience the horrors of blood spilling from every orifice of your body. Is that what you really want?” 

Surely, she was kidding. She was making an empty threat. Or was she…? More flashes of memories attacked Bellamy and he closed his eyes in an effort to get rid of them. But it was a mistake. An onslaught of memories came to him then. He remembered it all—the pain, the nausea, the weakness— as blood drained from his body like a sheep hanging for slaughter. The screams that wailed in his head from the dead bodies of all those people he killed assaulted him. Their skins were sizzling from the radiation, their eyes were open in anguish, and their mouths told him he did it. He killed them.

Bellamy opened his eyes when he could no longer take it all. He didn’t know what Clarke did for her Wanheda title, but he could not let her do this. Not again. That’s a monstrous thing to do, even to your enemies. And who was he if he let her do such a thing? How could he say he was the good guy if he resorted to such bodily violence? Poisoning dozens of people until they bled to death needed to be done only once.

“Clarke, don’t do this!” Bellamy shouted angrily behind her. He stepped forward, but again Murphy shoved him away. Clarke gave him a short glance but did not take her attention away from the prisoner. “It doesn’t have to be this way. Let him go!” 

“ _Tel ai op hashta dison_!” Clarke shouted at Ilian.

“He doesn’t deserve this! Clarke!” Bellamy shouted the same moment the Sankru prisoner cracked.  

“Alright, alright. I’ll do it! I’ll tell you...”

Ilian let out a strangled desperate cry. Clarke raised an eyebrow, urging him on. The ring never moved from his line of vision. Bellamy stopped his struggling and Murphy in turn stopped trying to push him away. They wait with bated breath.

“It was a woman.” Ilian said quietly. The slump on his shoulders told everyone of his defeat against Wanheda’s questioning. “She came to us during the third day of your gift exchange. She spoke to the chieftain about a favor with expensive commodities and money as rewards and left immediately after. We began planning the ambush the next day. That’s all I know.”  

Bellamy, Clarke, and Murphy let the prisoner’s confession sink in. A woman who offered commodities and money to have Bellamy killed?

“Who was she?” Clarke asked. “What was her name? Which clan did she belong to?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen this woman before.” 

          “Did your chieftain ever call her by name? Did you see any tattoos?”  

“No, only by terms of endearment. If she had any tattoos, I couldn’t see it. She was covered from head to toe. Only her face was visible.” 

“If you see her again, you would recognize her?”

Ilian thought about it for a moment and nodded his head. The four of them went silent, each left in their own thoughts. Bellamy watched the prisoner carefully. The stress of Clarke’s interrogation made Ilian look like he had just lost several years of his life. After all his protests, Ilian had done what was asked of him. But what will happen to him after the prisoner’s usefulness diminishes? Will Clarke tell Murphy to kill him? Will she put the ring on him herself? Bellamy desperately needed to know.

“Thank you for giving us what we need, Ilian.” Clarke finally said. “Murphy will escort you to the healer and patch you up. Get some rest.”  

Ilian did not move or look at anyone as Murphy unchained him from the chair. When he tried to get up, his legs gave and he almost collapsed. Expecting the prisoner’s reaction, Murphy was ready to catch him and helped the man walk to the door. Clarke and Bellamy watched the prisoner go. As soon as the doors slammed shut, Bellamy turned to Clarke.

          “That was uncalled for,” he said.  

          “You had your chance at interrogating him, Bellamy.” Clarke pointed out, turning her gaze to Bellamy. “You’re lucky I didn’t have Murphy throw you out for intruding on my interrogation.”  

“Interrogation? What interrogation?” Bellamy said.

As if emphasize his disgust, he gestured towards the chair the prisoner was tied in. Clarke looked at it. There was some blood and sweat everywhere on the seat of the chair and the arms were marked with scratches undoubtedly by Ilian himself in a vain attempt to keep some form of control.

“Did you forget that it was you who whipped him?" Clarke said, letting out a laugh. “Don't act all high and mighty in front of me. I know you tortured Lincoln within an inch of his life when one of your people was poisoned. If anything, you are crueler than I. At least I didn’t resort to physical violence.”  

“When I tortured Lincoln, Monroe’s life was in danger.” Bellamy clenched his jaws, remembering that moment in time. It seemed like it was such a long time ago since he met Lincoln, but it has only been several months. “She was poisoned and she needed the antidote. I did what I had to do. Lincoln is in a much better shape than Monroe. Ilian didn’t need to be tortured. I did whip him and I apologize for that. But you shouldn’t have stepped in. We could have dragged the interrogation out, let him stew a bit. But instead, you chose to use the ring and possibly scarred him for life.”   

“That’s the point.”

The blatant almost nonchalant retort made Bellamy’s blood boil.

          “What if he didn’t cave? What if you put that ring on him? He could have died!”  

Clarke looked up at the dark ceiling and let out a sigh of exasperation.

          “You’re being a bit ridiculous. He could have died, yes. But the point of the matter is I didn’t kill him, did I?”

          “Don’t you…” Bellamy paused, unsure if he wanted to put his fears into words. “Don’t you feel bad about this?”

“No.” Clarke replied without hesitation. “All I’m trying to do is find out who wants you dead. You should appreciate it.”

          “Wow, I should fucking thank you for not killing someone. You, who probably killed dozens of people just to get that stupid title. Are you even remorseful, Clarke? All those people you killed and scarred, did you ever mourn for them?" 

“Do you mean did I mourn like you did?” Clarke stared at him then, the sudden spark of disappointment clearly shown on her face. “Because I didn't. I _couldn't_. You had three months of peace to get your shit together. I was in a middle of a war. People were counting on me. So no, I don't mourn deaths like you do Bellamy. If that makes me a terrible person, then I'm sorry you're marrying one."  

That look on her face was the thing that snapped him out of his fervor, but it was her words that made him feel like he was slapped in the face.

“I didn’t...” He paused, not knowing what to say. “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“But your expression says it. That's right. I killed a lot of people to get the title of Wanheda. More than you can ever imagine. Am I proud of it? No. But I bear it so my people don't have to. I thought you, of all people, would understand.”

A silence fell over them. Bellamy took a deep breath and let out a long tired sigh. All the emotions and feelings that had overwhelmed him quickly dissipated at her words. What was he doing? Why was he trying to pick a fight with her? She was right. He was a hypocrite for criticizing her interrogation tactics when he himself had whipped Ilian so hard his skin was coming off in slashes. She did what she had to do in order to get Ilian to talk. Who was he to question why she did it or how she did it when he himself had failed?

“I’m sorry…” Bellamy said, breaking the silence. He looked at her and gulped at the lack of emotions on her face. “I… don’t know what’s gotten over me. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn't mean to what? Insinuate that I’m a monster?” Clarke scoffed. “Don't kid yourself. You weren't the first and you won't be the last.”

The bitterness in her voice rivaled the anger in her blue eyes. Bellamy opened his mouth to say something, anything, but closed it. What could he say? He had called her, through several choice words, a monster that didn’t care for human life. But he knew better than that.

The memory of Clarke in all of her Grounder gear putting her hand on his as they pulled the lever came into his mind and he gulped down the lump in his throat. She had cared then. When she had accidentally hurt Murphy during their training, she had put some sort of ointment on his cheek. She had cared then.

Why did he think she didn’t? Why did he hurt her so? Was it the stress of the upcoming marriage? Did seeing Lincoln, the love of Octavia’s life, injured and unconscious break him because he dreaded telling his sister Lincoln was dead? Or was it the realization that if Bellamy was in Clarke’s position, he would have done the same thing? That if he had called her a monster, then what did that make him? He didn’t know.

The door to the throne room opened and Murphy sauntered in, whistling an incredibly annoying tune that slowed to a step as he read the atmosphere in the room. The smell of sandalwood drifted through the room again.

“What happened?” He asked.

He looked at his teacher for a few seconds before eyeing Bellamy with a glare.

“Bellamy and I were discussing something, that’s all.” Clarke said, clearing her throat. Bellamy lowered his eyes in shame. “How’s Ilian?”

“Monty is tending to him.”

“Not in the same room as Lincoln, I hope.”

“What am I, stupid?”

Clarke signaled for her second and Murphy came closer, opening the decorative wooden box for Clarke to put the precious gold ring back in. Murphy closed the box tightly, tucked it under his arms, and waited for further instructions. Clarke took a moment to look around the throne room before her eyes landed on Bellamy. They stared at each other in silence.

“I’m sorry if you can’t find it in yourself to trust me.” Clarke said quietly. “I am truly trying to save your life, Bellamy. Skaikru is nothing without you. I know that. I’ve seen it. And if we want this to work, truly work without any inner conflict within the two clans, we must be in sync. _Together_. If you are too stubborn to accept help from a Grounder like me, then so be it. You can leave when Lincoln is ready for departure.”  

“What?” Murphy asked, scandalized by his teacher’s words. He looked between Bellamy and Clarke. “You’re going to let him leave?”

“Clarke, I—” Bellamy started.

“I think we all have exchanged enough words for today, no?” Clarke interrupted. “Murphy, take him back to his room.”

“But Cla—” Murphy started.

“Your Wanheda gave you a task, Murphy.” Clarke hissed back, silencing her second.

Murphy’s upper lip twitched in annoyance. He looked like he was going to shout some expletives but refrained. Instead, he clenched his fist and thumped it on his right chest as a sign of respect. Clarke nodded.

“ _Ai laik yu gona._ ” Murphy whispered. She gave him a smile. He turned to Bellamy and jerked his head. “Come on, Blake.”

Bellamy looked at Clarke but she refused to meet his gaze. Knowing that he needed to leave things alone for now, Bellamy silently followed Murphy. The way back to the guest room was silent save for the occasional echoes from activities somewhere inside the castle. But they were just that, echoes and reverberation, and Bellamy did not see anyone.

When they reached the room, Bellamy had expected Murphy to just slam the door and leave. Well, he did slam the door. But Murphy did not leave. He was still in the room. Everything in Bellamy told him to prepare for the worst and he looked around for his backpack but it was nowhere to be found. Shit.

“What are you doing?” Bellamy asked, turning to look at Clarke’s second warily.

“What did you two talk about?” Murphy asked without skipping a beat.

Bellamy took a careful step back. He did not have a gun on him.

          “None of your busine—”

Before Bellamy could even finish his sentence, Murphy closed the distance between the two of them and delivered a kick to his face. The kick itself was not unexpected, but the force of the kick took the breath out of Bellamy and knocked him down to the floor.

“Wanheda is my business.” Murphy said, looking down at him with a sneer.

Bellamy narrowed his eyes. Instead of getting up, Bellamy supported himself with his hands and swept his foot across in an effort to knock Murphy off of his feet. But Murphy had anticipated that and jumped as Bellamy’s foot passed through and swung his body to deliver another hard kick to his face. Blood began to drip from Bellamy’s nose. He quickly got up to his feet and the two of them began to exchange punches, each one harder and harsher than the next. All of Murphy’s training with Clarke and the other grounders paid off because it was hard to land a punch where it counted.

Just as Bellamy lost his footing on a pillow that had fallen to the floor, Murphy took hold of Bellamy’s shirt, pulled him up several inches from the floor, and slammed him face first onto the bed. The wooden bedframe groaned under the weight. Bellamy didn’t have a second to regroup before Murphy was on his back, holding his arm and twisting it hard in the other direction.

Pain shot up his arm, but he did not want to give Murphy the satisfaction of hearing him scream. Instead he tried to twist his body so that he could catch a glimpse of Murphy and find a way out. But in all of the confusion, Bellamy could only make out a glint of gold and white shining brightly. His heart skipped a beat.

“What are you doing!” Bellamy shouted.

“Clarke said I have anger issues.” Murphy said calmly. “It seems that you do too. And you know what we do to people with anger issues?”

Bellamy’s effort to push Murphy off increased but it was to no avail because the moment Murphy found the opportunity, he sank a dagger into Bellamy’s free forearm. The blade went through his flesh and penetrated through to the wooden bedframe, pining Bellamy down with it. Bellamy screamed this time and when a second dagger went through his other arm, he screamed again. Blood begin to pool like a puddle in a rain storm.

Still straddling his back, Murphy leaned forward and Bellamy watched as the ring that was used to win Clarke her Wanheda title came into view. Bellamy tried to jerk away but the blades pinning him down tore at his skin and left searing pain in their wake.

“If you disrespect Wanheda, Commander of Death, Destroyer of Worlds, Reigning Defender of Delfikru, you disrespect me.” Murphy hissed into his ear. “Clarke may go soft on you Skaikru freak, but I will never do so. It’s time you learn.”

          At those words, Murphy pressed his finger on the ring, directly on the clear stone itself, and Bellamy watched in horror as the stone sank under the weight. He screamed and thrashed against the blades that held him down but it was too late.

Murphy lifted his finger up and the pressure on the stone released just as sharp stinging pain went through Bellamy’s finger and up his arm. In the midst of it all, he could hear someone shouting something. But the pain of his arms combined with the searing heat of whatever was injected into him was too much. Bellamy’s vision swirled and his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

Darkness took over.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

          When he came to, it was dark. There were flickers of flame light around him, but everything else was dark. How long has he been asleep? Bellamy shifted his weight and groaned at the pain he felt on both arms. How was he still alive? Where was Murphy?

          “Good, you’re awake.” A voice said in the darkness. Bellamy gasped and shot up from the bed, cursing at the dizziness that suddenly overtook him. A hand shot out from the darkness and steadied him and a face came into view. “Easy, easy.”

          Bellamy wanted to push the person away, whoever they were, but his arms felt like noodles and he couldn’t muster the strength to do so. He was gently pushed back down on the bed, noticing for the first time that he was naked from the waist up.

The young man in front of him pressed a hand against his head and let out a sigh of relief when he removed his hand. He looked familiar. At a closer look, Bellamy realized the Asian man was the one who tended to Lincoln’s wounds when they were ambushed.

          “Good, no fever. You’re doing quite well.”

          “Who the fuck are you?” Bellamy asked, looking around. He was in the same room as before. But the aftermath of his struggle with Murphy were fixed. The pillows and blankets were back in place. “What are you doing here? Where’s Murphy?”

          “Woah, calm down Sky boy. My name is Monty.” The man said with a smile that was all too happy for Bellamy’s mood. “Relax. You’re safe.”

Bellamy scoffed at the word. Clarke’s second had accosted him in his own room, tortured him, and poisoned him. Safe was the last thing on his mind. Bellamy looked at the healer. Monty doesn’t seem to be much of a threat, but considering the state of Bellamy’s health he wasn’t sure he could take Monty on even if he tried his best.

“How…?” Bellamy shook his head to get rid of the dizziness that overcame him.

“How are you alive? Well, I stitched up your arms. Murphy did a number on them, but that’s Murphy for you.” Bellamy gave Monty side eye and Monty shrugged, chuckling at his reaction. “It’s only several hours but it looks like the wounds will heal well.”

“What about the poison?”

“Poison?” Monty let out a laugh. “What poison?”

Bellamy looked down at his finger where a small bruise was starting to form.

“The ring. There was poison in the ring.”

          “Oh, that. It was just an extract.” Monty replied.

Bellamy stared, confusion blanketing his face. It wasn’t a poison? Then why did he feel like he had just regurgitated everything he had ever eaten and all the energy inside of him had been expelled in the most violent way? Why did he feel so weak and unsteady? It was Mount Weather all over again and the mere thought of it made him want to hurl.

          “Just an extract? Care to be more specific? You’re a healer, aren’t you?”

          “The compartment inside the ring contains an extract from a plant on Agarthi that causes paralysis. We use it to incapacitate attackers. The effects will wear off soon. If you don’t want it to get worse, all you need to do is relax your muscles and just chill.” With the explanation done, Monty clapped his hands together. “Now, what would you like to eat?”

Bellamy took a minute to gather his thoughts. The haze that blinded him slowly dissipated but his arms still felt weak.

          “I need to contact my people.”

          “Lincoln already did that.”

At the mention of Lincoln, Bellamy tried to sit up again but Monty pushed him down. He was embarrassed to say that even though Monty did not exert any strength, Bellamy fell swiftly.

          “How is he?”

“He’s fine, better than you I gather. He’s not the one with the paralysis.”

“And Murphy?”

Monty laughed.

          “Don’t you worry, Sky boy. Murphy is banned from this part of the castle until further notice by orders of the Queen.”

Queen… So Clarke found out Murphy attacked him. Did she punish him for his actions? Since Murphy was banned, it must mean Clarke took Bellamy’s side. But he couldn’t know for sure. Given the way Bellamy had left the conversation, he wasn’t sure of anything. Was she still mad at him? Did she speak to Lincoln yet? Was the wedding still on? Will his people be saved?

Bellamy couldn’t help but wonder how he got to this point. After the Dropship, after Mount Weather, how was it that his people’s lives were in the hands of Delfikru’s defender? It didn’t seem real to him. Nothing seemed real. How did they get from fighting constantly for their lives to a calm truce, with a celebratory wedding on the horizon, and more peace to come?

Can his people have such things? Did he deserve such things after what he did? Or was this all too good to be true? After what he said to Clarke, did he deserve it? No matter what Thelonius Jaha said, Bellamy trusted Clarke and he had ruined that trust with his stupid emotions. What will his people say if he failed to complete the binding because he was too rash and irrational? Murphy was right. He did have anger issues like him.

          “What if I want to look around?” Bellamy asked, snapping out of his own thoughts.

          “It’s best you have a guard at your side at all times. That is why, by orders of the Queen, I am your tour guide for the remainder of your time here. We will have so much fun.”

Bellamy tries to laugh with Monty, but it came out weak and unnatural.

          “Why do you call Clarke Queen?”

Monty raised an eyebrow.

          “Because she is Wanheda, Commander of Death, Destroyer of Worlds, Reigning Defender of Delfikru, and Queen of Agarthi. She is my Queen.”

          “Yeah, Murphy told me her full title when he attacked me.”

“Right..." Monty shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. "About Murphy..." He cleared his throat. "I know this will be hard to do because if I were you I would want to exact revenge too. But you must forgive Murphy. He can get really irrational when it comes to the Queen. He considers her his and won’t allow anyone disrespect her.”

Bellamy narrowed his eyes at the words.

          “What do you mean, he considers her his? They’re romantically involved?”

          “What, no. That’s not what I meant. They’re just… together.”

Monty’s confusion, word choice, and hesitation on the issue did not help ease Bellamy’s mind and he felt that more questions were popping up than they were answered. A knock on the door prevented Bellamy from asking anymore questions though. Monty gave Bellamy a comforting smile and went to open the door. A tanned woman with brown hair tied in a ponytail let out a shrill laugh at something Monty said and walked into the room. Or rather, she limped slowly into the room.

“Holy shit!” The woman exclaimed when she saw him. “Did Murphy seriously do this?”

“Yup,” Monty said with a laugh.

Bellamy scowled at the two. Why were they so nonchalant about Murphy’s attack on his person? Did Clarke’s second attack people often? An uneasy feeling came over Bellamy at Monty’s last words and he scowled at the two of them even more.

“Who are you?” Bellamy asked.

“Raven. Nice to meet you, freckle spots.” The woman gave him a nod and took a seat on a chair next to Monty’s. “I’m here to measure you for your blood binding attire.”

          “Raven, I’m not sure…” Monty paused, clearing his throat. “Murphy told me that it might not happen.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes. Of course Murphy would say that.

          “What?” Raven screeched, scandalous. “What the fuck do you mean it’s not happening? I’ve been listening to the old hag Hannah fo—“

“Hey, that’s my mom you’re calling a hag!” Monty cut in.

“—the last two weeks planning this shit. It’s happening.” Raven turned to look at Bellamy. “What the fuck did you do?” Bellamy started to answer her question, but she interrupted him. “I knew it. Murphy would never attack you so viciously if he didn’t think you disrespected Clarke in some way. You must have done something or said something that angered her, didn’t you? Did you question her about th—”

          “Raven.” Monty called, shushing the woman.

Unsure of the weird dynamic between Monty and Raven but wanting to defend himself, Bellamy simply stated:

          “Murphy is a dick.”

Raven was about to ramble more but stopped herself from shouting. Instead, she nodded her head.

          “You’re right about that.”

Monty, Raven, and Bellamy exchanged glances and started laughing at Murphy’s expense.

          “Oh man, that’s really true.” Monty stated between guffaws. “He’s such a dick to everyone but the Queen.”

Raven gave Monty a look.

          “Why the hell are you calling her Queen?”

          “I’m trying to be respectful and calling her by her title in front of the Sky boy.” Monty replied, gesturing towards Bellamy. Bellamy shrugged his shoulders at Raven, stating his noninvolvement in the matter.

“Oh for Wanheda’s sake, stop. You’re being weird.”

“You’re weird.” Monty retorted.

“You’re all being really weird right now.” Bellamy stated the obvious.

Monty and Raven ignored him, opting to give each other side eye.

          “Don’t let Clarke hear you say call her that,” Raven said to Monty. “I swear Murphy rubs off on her sometimes. She won’t hesitate to use the ring on you if you catch her at the wrong time.”

There it was again, the nonchalance when they mention the ring.

          “You speak as if the ring is a normal thing.” Bellamy said, looking between the two. “Clarke scared the shit out of Sankru with the ring. What is it and why do you have it?”

          “Didn’t Monty tell you? We all have one in case we get attacked. It’s standard defense protocol.”

          “I told you it’s used to incapacitate attackers, remember?” Monty reminded him.

          “But how does it work? It’s a ring. How the hell are you supposed to put it on someone in a struggle?”

          “Murphy did it, didn’t he?” Raven asked with a raised eyebrow. Bellamy narrowed his eyes at her but she didn’t seem to mind. “That’s the beauty of it. No one will see it coming.”

          “Raven here likes to invent things.” Monty smiled proudly. “Hey Raven, I was trying to explain the relationship between Murphy and Clarke to him but I don’t think I’m using the right words. Want to help?”

          “What is there to say?” Raven shrugged. “They’re together.”

Bellamy couldn’t help but let out an exasperated sigh.

          “Saying the word ‘together’ repeatedly in different sentences does not make me understand what ‘together’ means in this context.”

          “Ugh, language. What’s the point of learning a language when you can’t even use the correct word, right?” Raven rolled her eyes. She readjusted herself in her chair, gently petting her injured leg.

          “We could always ask Lincoln.” Monty glanced at Bellamy as he said this. “But I don’t think he can walk straight right now.”

Raven looked at Bellamy as well.

          “Shouldn’t you be stronger than this?”

          “Hey, give him a break.” Monty punched Raven in the arm. She gave him a glare. “He’s not immune to it as we are.”

Raven punched Monty back, harder this time. Monty let out a groan at the pain. Bellamy chuckled.

          “Alright so give me a minute and I’ll try to explain this in a way that you can understand.” Raven said, pausing for a few seconds. “Do you know what you have to say during the blood binding, assuming there is one?”

          “Lincoln told me, but I don’t remember it by heart. _Oso tai…_ something _kom_ _jus_.”

“ _Oso tai choda op kom jus._ We bind ourselves in blood.” Raven translated. “Murphy and Clarke’s relationship has somewhat of the same binding. But instead of _kom jus_ , Clarke and Murphy bound themselves together with _kom wamplei_. Do you know what _wamplei_ is?”

          “Death.” Bellamy frowned. Why would anyone bind themselves together in death, if not for marriage? “Are you saying they swore to protect each other no matter what? Is that what this is about?”

“Something like that. Clarke and Murphy are together in the sense that one must die in the hands of the other and no one else. Disrespecting Clarke suggests a threat to Murphy’s claim on her life. That’s why he went crazy on you.” Monty shrugged. “I don’t think Murphy will ever kill Clarke, but we can never know until they reach that point.”

Monty and Raven went silent, eyes lowered in contemplation. It was clear in their mannerisms and the way they spoke that they were worried about the inevitability of Clarke’s future with Murphy as her second. Their explanation of Clarke and Murphy’s relationship only brought Bellamy more questions. But as if remembering their place and what they needed to do, Monty and Raven snapped out of it.

“Anyway…” Raven cleared her throat. “I still need to measure you for blood binding attire. God forbid Clarke decides the binding is back on and Hannah can’t finish the clothes in time. You’ll be naked. Not that we’ll complain.”

She eyed Bellamy’s chest with a hungry look. Bellamy looked down at his naked chest and cautiously pulled the blanket up to cover himself. Monty laughed.

          “I think we’ve bothered him a lot today. Come on Raven, let’s leave him to rest.” Monty got up and brushed some lint off his pants, turning his attention to Bellamy. “I will be here tomorrow to give you a tour and Raven will probably bombard you with stuff later in the day. She’s a night owl. Sounds good?”

          “Yeah, sounds good.”

Raven got up from her seat, limped over to him, and put a hand on his shoulder.

          “Rest up, freckle spots. Just so you know, Clarke defended your honor. There was blood. There will be bruises. Everywhere.” Raven gestured towards her face and let out a laugh. “Everywhere.”

With that, Raven limped away. Just like they had arrived, Monty and Raven disappeared without as much as a good bye leaving Bellamy by himself in the room. The silence that followed was a welcomed change. But within minutes, that comfort turned into anxious worry.

Bellamy stared at the ceiling, deep in thoughts.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

          It’s been three days since Bellamy and Lincoln arrived in Agarthi.

          Like Monty promised, he had returned to Bellamy’s room the day after and together they went to visit Lincoln in the room down the hallway. Lincoln looked worse for wear but at least he didn’t have blood dripping all over him like the day before. He had animatedly talked to Monty as if they were friends but they had denied such a relationship. Monty was someone you could easily be friends with so the ease of which the three of them talked as they ate lunch came as no surprise.

          Hours after they were rescued, Lincoln had woken up to find Bellamy’s bag next to his bedside table and radioed back to Arkadia as soon as he could muster the strength. Lincoln said Octavia was concerned for both of their sakes and would have gone after them had Lincoln not calmed her down and reassured her. Wells had some choice words for Bellamy himself, particularly in regards to his choice of not bringing more escorts. But Bellamy just laughed when he heard Lincoln’s relay and shook his head.

          When Lincoln had questioned Bellamy about the wounds on his arms, Bellamy had originally planned to brush it off like it was nothing. But Monty had beaten him to it and told Lincoln all about his scuffle with Murphy. If Monty wasn’t so amicable and friendly, Bellamy would definitely smack the crap out of him. Fortunately for Monty, he did not. Even though Lincoln was showing sign of improvements, Monty had insisted the injured Trikru needed to rest some more. So with a bid good bye, Monty and Bellamy left Lincoln’s room and started on their tour.

          Clarke was right. Agarthi was a beautiful place. After all the dense forests, muddy rains, and bones littering the ground back in Trikru territory, Agarthi was like paradise on Earth. It was so much more beautiful than anything he has ever set his eyes upon. How could anyone not want to live in such a place?

Agarthi was like the Venice he had read about in the history books he stole back on the Ark. It had dozens of floating islands spread across the lagoon which made for a wonderful view. The city itself had no roads, just canals that connected the islands together. The floating markets, despite the limitations of being on water, had more than enough for everything one would need whether it was fish, meat, veggies, or tubers. Agarthi’s castle, where Clarke resided, even had a huge library!

Everywhere he went, Bellamy discovered something new and the more he looked the more in love he became. The people of Agarthi, while cautious and wary of his presence, did not look as hostile as Trikru or Azgeda members when he and his group went to Polis. They muttered amongst themselves but kept their distance and never dared to approach him. Was it because he was walking about with Monty as his tour guide? Or was it because the people of Agarthi heard the stories of him taking down the mountain? The very thought of them judging him for the things he did, even though they praised it, was unsettling. When asked about it, Monty told him it was because of his status as Clarke’s consort.

Since the interrogation of Ilian the Sankru, Bellamy had yet to catch even a glimpse of Clarke. As the Queen, she was probably busy helping her people. But even though they live in the same castle, she was nowhere to be found even though he tried. Monty had given him several different excuse but they were just that—excuses.

He couldn’t help but wonder if she was avoiding him. Lincoln had reassured him that the blood binding, despite Clarke’s intentions, must go on or else she would have to answer to Lexa. But the thought wasn’t as reassuring as the Trikru had hoped. Who can stop Wanheda if she refused to blood bind to him, especially after what happened?

The night of his third day on Agarthi, Bellamy suddenly found himself face to face with Clarke. Seeing Clarke was a surprise because he hadn’t expected her to be at the library. After Monty introduced him to the place, he had been spending most of his time there. But it was her castle and library so should he have been surprised? Bellamy was so engrossed in the history book he was reading he didn’t hear her come in. Her sudden gasp at discovering him made him look up from his book and they stared at each other.

“Clarke,” he said in surprise.

She tensed, slowly nodding her head at him in acknowledgement. At least she wasn’t ignoring him.

          “Bellamy. I didn’t know you were here.” She said.

          “Yeah, I’ve been here all day.” He replied, scratching his head nervously.

          “Huh.” She stated, unamused. “Carry on.”

Clarke gave him a nod, turned, and walking away. Bellamy closed the book he was reading, scrambled to his feet, and quickly caught up to her. They walked together down the expanse of the library in silence with no destinations in mind. Each turn she made to move through a different shelf, Bellamy followed. She didn’t outright diss him for it, but she looked a bit annoyed he was following her.

          “Clarke, can we talk?” He asked after a few moments. Clarke didn’t answer but simply opted to continue walking through the shelves. “Clarke, you can’t avoid me forever. We need to talk about the blood binding.”

          “I told you. You can leave when Lincoln is ready for departure. According to Monty’s report, it should be tomorrow. Go back to Arkadia. I will deal with Lexa.”

          “Clarke,” Bellamy said.

The coldness in her demeanor and her refusal to look at him as she spoke suggested that she was still mad at him. Unable to get her attention, Bellamy walked in front of Clarke and stopped her from moving forward. She looked up at him then and narrowed her eyes.

“Move.”

          “No.” Not knowing what to do, Bellamy brushed his fingers through his hair and let out a sigh of frustration. He then looked at her and started to say whatever was on his mind. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know how else to say this. I apologize. I would like to express my regret. I. Am. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I shouldn’t have let my anger get the best of me. I was just confused and worried and…” Bellamy clenched his fists. “Scared. I was scared. I _am_ scared. Ever since we landed on the ground, all I’ve done is fight for a chance to survive. This peace that your Commander is proposing? This blood binding? I don’t know how long it’ll last. I’m scared that I’m getting my hopes up for nothing. I know that I’m just making excuses right now and it sounds really stupid but… I’m so sorry, Clarke.”

Clarke took a few moments to just look at him, really look at him in the eyes, and slowly nodded her head. The understanding on her features made him feel like a burden was lifted off his shoulders and Bellamy let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. He gave her a nod back.

“I don’t know how long this truce will last. From my experiences, truces aren’t made to last.” Clarke said with a sardonic chuckle. “But I don’t want you to just survive. I’m offering you and your people a chance to live and thrive.

“I know. Then give me one more chance, Clarke.”

Clarke nodded but said nothing on the matter. She pushed her way in front of him and started walking again. Unable to stay where he was, he turned and followed her. Before he knew it, she had led him back to his reading nook. He had chosen a good spot to read. The floor to ceiling stained glass bay window provided ample lighting and the wooden recessed seating were decorated with soft blankets and pillows. She glanced at the pillows he had propped up to one side and took her place next to it. Bellamy didn’t need her to say anything before he sat down next to her.        

   “Do you think you deserve it?” Clarke asked.

“What?”

He turned to look at her, eyebrows furrowed. She looked back at him.

          “Do you think you and your people deserve peace?”

          “All my people wanted was a place to call home.” Bellamy replied. “All we’ve done since we’ve been on the ground was fight for our place in your society. My people deserve it as much as yours.”

          “Do you think you, Bellamy Blake, deserve it?”

          “What’s with the questions?”

          “Answer me.” Clarke nudged.

          Bellamy looked away, unable to keep his gaze with Clarke, and stared at the floor in front of him. Did he deserve peace? What kind of question was that? Of course he didn’t. In order to keep the people on the Ark away from Earth, he had destroyed the radio in Wick's ship and caused the death of 320 innocent Arkers. He didn’t do it to save his people. He did it to save himself. He didn’t deserve peace then.

He’s been asking himself this question ever since he pulled the lever at Mount Weather. When he irradiated all the men, women, children in the mountain, even though there were some who had helped him and his people among them, he had justified his actions by saying it was all for his people. But Jasper’s descent into depression suggested otherwise. Did he deserve anything at all when he had killed so many? Why did he think he had the authority to make such decisions? Why should he, out of all people, get to live when there were others who should have? Like Maya. Like that little boy. Like… Bellamy blinked and took a deep breath.

          “No.” Bellamy answered. The utterance of his reply and the force of his feelings on the matter felt like a punch in the stomach. “I do not.”

It was a few minutes before Clarke spoke again.

          “Therein lays the problem. You do not think you deserve peace so you’re afraid of it.” Clarke cleared her throat, drawing his attention. He took his eyes off the floor in front of him and looked at her. “Has anyone told you about the war that gave me my title?”

          “Only that it happened four years ago.”

          “The war started when I was 11.” Clarke said, looking away. “Delfikru used to have territories 150 miles north of the shore you passed on your way here. We had thousands of people under our protection. We were the strongest of all the clans. One night, Trishanakru, Yuljeda, and Ingranronakru gathered their forces and invaded our lands. We fought back. Of course we did. But we were no match for their three clans combined. When I was 12, my father put me in power and acted as regent in my name. He did everything he could for his clan but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. Our thousands slowly diminished. When I was 13, my father was assassinated.” Clarke paused and cleared her throat. “It was a boy who did it. He was so tired of all the fighting and just so… _angry_ … that he decided to end my father’s life. He had hoped that his death will end the war and bring back peace. It didn’t. He had killed my father in cold blood and all it did was expedited the war. The boy’s family suffered for it. With my father’s death, the enemy’s spirit grew stronger. They maximized their efforts. By that point, they had taken our third city and were on their way to our second. The war went for another year. My people were dying left and right and there was nothing I could do to help them. I was 14 and had the fate of my people on my shoulders. So when I found a way to end the war, to stop all the bloodshed, I knew what I had to do. Did they tell you how many I killed when I was 14?”

          “No.”

“One thousand eight hundred and fifteen people. One thousand eight hundred and fifteen men, women, and child.” Bellamy couldn’t help but stare at the woman. One thousand eight hundred and fifteen people…? Dead… At her hands? How was that possible? The image of Clarke standing over the bodies of those clan members etched itself into his mind and he felt all the pent up emotions that he had kept inside of him threatening to spill out. Beside him, Clarke continued her tale. “That number is etched on my back for all to see. I know what you’re thinking. I’m a Grounder. I should be proud of it and I am. I am proud that I’ve ended the bloodshed that started with my father. I am proud that I have finally given my people peace. I bear it so my people don't have to. It’s a small price to pay. If you, who have killed seven hundred people, think you do not deserve peace… Then what do I deserve?”

He didn’t know what to say. What would he say? The turmoil that was clear in Clarke’s eyes mirrored his.

“I thought we were the good guys.” Bellamy said, ignoring the slight break in his voice.

“There are no good guys, Bellamy.”

Bellamy lowered his gaze to look down at his hands on his lap. His hands had destroyed the radio and pulled the lever. His hands had killed hundreds of Grounders for his people. It was drenched in the blood of hundreds. As if knowing what he was thinking, Clarke reached over and put her right hand in his palms. Bellamy looked at the expanse of her pale calloused skin and let out a laugh. Her hands were drenched in blood too.

“There are no good guys.” Bellamy repeated.

Clarke tugged on his hand and he pulled his focus away to look at her. She gave him a gentle smile. Her golden hair seemed to glow against the backdrop of the stained glass bay windows.

“If you need forgiveness, Bellamy of Skaikru, I’ll give it to you. You’re forgiven.”

Bellamy didn’t know how it happened exactly. Maybe it was her warm hand in his. Maybe it was that sad resigned smile on her face. Maybe it was her words that did it. But the tears that had gathered in his eyes broke free and came like rivulets down his face. The ache that throbbed inside of him was more than just the anguish and regret he felt. It was for Clarke as well.

It was for the 12 year old girl who sounded like she had witnessed her father’s death with her own eyes and made to lead despite her inexperience. It was for all Delfikru and Arkers who were uprooted from their home and made to suffer through war. It was for the lives Bellamy and Clarke could have had but didn’t.

When there were no more tears to cry, Bellamy realized that the sun was beginning to set. Had he really cried for hours? Surely not? Bellamy wiped his face, cleared his throat, and turned to look at his companion. She seemed to be in a daze, blue eyes staring wide into the library in front of her.

“Clarke,” he called.

Clarke immediately snapped out of her trance.

          “Yes?”

          “Thank you for…” Bellamy let out a nervous laugh. “Thanks for being here.”

          “It seems like you needed it.”

Clarke let go of his hands and he couldn’t help but regret the loss of the heat she provided. The woman raised her arms and stretched, yawning loudly. He laughed at her but suddenly found himself yawning as well. She playfully scoffed at him.

          “So… now what?” He asked her. “Is the blood binding still on?”

Clarke shrugged her shoulders and pushed herself off the bay window to land on the floor. She turned to face him, the fabrics of her attire flowing effortlessly behind her, and smiled.

          “Depends on what you say.” She replied. “If you want it to happen, all you have to do is say yes.”

Bellamy raised an eyebrow.

          “Clarke of Delfikru, are you proposing to me?” He teased.

She wrinkled her nose.

          “What’s proposing?”

          “Uhhh…” Bellamy didn’t expect this and regretted his decision to tease her immediately. Well, this was going to be embarrassing. “Are you offerin—“

          “Oh my god Bellamy, I know what proposing meant.” Clarke gave him a slight punch to the shoulder. “What am I, daft?”

          “I didn’t know!” He protested.

          “For your information, we do not propose marriage here. Not with words anyway.”

          “Then what?”

          “Ask Lincoln. I’m sure he and Octavia already did the deed.”

Bellamy jerked back in disgust.

          “Ugh, no. Don’t even talk about that.” Clarke laughed. He shook his body of the uncomfortable feeling that came over him at her ridiculously words. “Shut up, Clarke.”

          “So how about it? Want to marry me?”

Bellamy looked at Clarke and slowly smiled. He pushed himself off the bay window and went to stand in front of Clarke, putting his hands in his pockets.

          “Yes.”

          “Good.” Clarke glanced at the setting rays coming off the windows and sighed. “I expect you’ll be leaving soon. See you at Polis in two weeks?”

          “Of course,” he smiled. “Well, I guess that’s my signal to leave.”

 

          “Yes, please leave.” Clarke said, deadpanned. The amusement on her face was plain to see and he shook his head at her. “I didn’t come to the library for nothing, Bellamy. Get out. I have things to do.”

          “Until we meet again.”

          “Until we meet again.”

          Bellamy did an awkward wave and walked away, leaving Clarke behind to do what she needed to do. As he made his way out the door, he scratched his head nervously and berated himself for being so weird and nervous. Honestly, what was he doing acting like a 15 year old boy with no social skills?

When Bellamy stepped out of the library and closed the doors behind him, he found himself face to face with Murphy. The warrior was leaning against a wall on the opposite side of the hallway and did not move from his position as Bellamy came to view. He had been waiting for Clarke. One look at Murphy and Bellamy suddenly understood why Raven said what she did several days ago. There were healing lacerations and bruises on his face that were not there before. Not wanting to stir up anything, Bellamy gave Murphy a nod and walked further down the hallway. But before he turned the corner, a thought came to Bellamy’s mind.

Clarke’s father was killed by an angry little boy. Was it…

Bellamy shook his head. It can’t be. Clarke would never let her father’s murderer be so close.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, when I wrote the interrogation scene 3-4 months ago, the Sankru prisoner's name was Illani. But then season 4 ep. 2 happened and I couldn't help but change his name.
> 
> As always, my Trigedasleng were taken from the various eps of The 100. Please note I will not be translating any of the Trigedasleng in Bellamy's chapters.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please comment if you feel compelled and I'll see you next time.


	5. Ceremony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there. Welcome back to another chapter of Bound.
> 
> Please note all Trigedasleng are taken from various translation sites on Google. Thanks.
> 
> Happy reading.

**05; Ceremony**

 

The spear was more beautiful and ornate than anything Clarke could imagine.

Instead of one pair of outer teeth like a regular trident spear, hers had two pairs that curved up in a U shape. They circled the middle blade half way before polishing up to sharp tips. The middle blade, slightly bigger and thicker than the outer teeth, spanned for another 5 inches and gradually thinned into a long sharp tip.

The blades were made of steel and looked like they could cut more than just skin. But it was the curved blade made out of bone that impressed her. Positioned right in the spot where the other steel blades conjoined, the curved bone went the other direction. At first, the bone blade seemed purely decorative but she could see that its uses and she reveled in it.

Clarke twirled the double ended spear in her hand, noting the ease of which she did it, and smiled. Remembering she had an audience, she rested her blade upright next to the arm of her chair and looked down at its creator.

“Well done, Emori.” Clarke clapped her hands. “Thank you so much for this. It’s beautiful.”

Beaming proudly at the praise, Emori thumped her chest and got up from the floor, returning to her position amongst the people gathering in the throne room. Clarke scanned her eyes through the group of people and once her eyes caught sight of the head of farming committee, she motioned for him. The black man stepped forward and knelt down, greeting her with a formal fist thump the chest and deep nod of his head.

“I, Pike of Delfikru, greet Your Highness.” Pike stood up.

“Did you finish?” Clarke questioned.

“Just as you have instructed, I have taken inventory of our food supply. Assuming a good harvest this fall, Delfikru will have enough food to last us two years. If we ration starting now, we would have enough to last four years at most. But…”

Clarke had expected the hesitation that came with Pike’s briefing.

“But what?”

“I don’t see why we need to, Your Highness.”

Clarke looked at the group of people behind Pike and focused her attention back on Pike, ignoring the soft muttering of the people around him. As the head of the farming committee, Pike was in charge of the clan’s food supply and a greatly respected member of the council. If he so much as frowned, his followers would give reason to cause turmoil. She had to tread carefully if she wanted to keep him out of the loop.

“I don’t know about you but I find that the older I get, the more wary I become of the future.” Clarke said with a self-deprecating laugh. “Things have changed a lot since my father’s death. We get more storms than we did before. Heck, the winter is colder and longer than when I was a child. Do you agree?”

Having lost a son to the harsh winters 2 years prior, he should know what she meant.

“Yes,” Pike replied after a pregnant pause.

“Then can you blame me for wanting to know what our limit ahead of time?”

“No, of course not.”

“Not to mention the success of the blood binding would mean an increase in population for us. We need to ensure we have enough food for everyone. You know as well as I do that Skaikru lacks the experience and would require some help this year. As our allies, we are obligated to do so. So that means being prepared. The farming committee needs to plant more cold resistant barley. Would you be able to do that, Pike? Just to increase our supplies?”

“Your wish is mine, Your Highness.”

Knowing he was dismissed, Pike removed himself from her line of vision. Clarke pushed herself off her throne and took several steps down the dais, her eyes looking at everyone in the room. Most of the people here were representatives from different groups of Delfikru. Emori and Raven were the only two blacksmiths in the clan so they both had a spot consulting Clarke. Pike was the leader of the farming committee, Monty took Cenzo’s place as the healer since the old man was currently sick at the moment, and Hannah took care of the production of clothes and fur. There were others but Emori, Monty, Pike, and Hannah were the most important ones since each of their group provided weapons, medicine, food, and clothes respectively.

Now that all other matters were settled one way or another, Clarke had one other important task to deliberate upon.

“The blood binding is upon us.” Clarke said, hands clasped together behind her. Her voice carried through the throne room. “I must make my journey to Polis today if I am to arrive in time. You know what must be done. I need to choose three people to accompany me to the blood binding. Murphy, of course, is my first. But I need two mo—”

“ _Ai na goch yu op,_ [I’ll escort you,]” Monty said before Clarke could even finish.

The healer pushed through the people around him and stopped right in front of Clarke. His right fist was pressed against his chest right on top of his heart. She didn’t wait to debate on the matter. She didn’t have to. As soon as he spoke the traditional words, she stepped down the dais separating them and reached forward to touch the fist on his chest with her own hand. Monty unfurled his fist, took Clarke’s hand in his, and Clarke pulled him forward until their clasped fists touched her chest as a show of binding devotion.

“ _Den dula yu du na shil ai op._ [Then do your job and protect me.]”

“ _Sha, ai Haiplana_. [Yes, my Queen.]”

Once they let go of each other’s hands, Monty went to stand besides Murphy up on the dais. Murphy bristled at the healer to show his approval and took a step to the side to avoid touching Monty. Clarke gave him a look and he ignored it, opting to take another step away just to irk her. She rolled her eyes at him and turned back to the crowd. A shift in the crowd signaled another volunteer and Raven stepped forward. She opened her mouth to speak the traditional words but was quickly interrupted by—

“No.” Everyone looked at Murphy for his sudden outburst. “Raven is in no way ready to serve the Queen. She has a limp, for god’s sake.”

“A limp you gave me, asshole!” Raven shouted back.

If it wasn’t for the ceremonial etiquette, Clarke knew she would have rushed up the dais and smacked Murphy in the face.

“A limp nonetheless!” Murphy scoffed, crossing his arms. “How will you be of use to the Queen in a fight?”

“ _Ai ste mou biga kom ai kripa._ [I’m bigger than my demons.]” Disregarding Murphy, Raven turned to Clarke. “ _Ai Haiplana, ai na goch yu op._ [My Queen, I’ll escort you.]”

Clarke looked at Raven, the silence in the throne room growing ever so deafening. Everyone waited for her answer. Despite Murphy’s vehement rejection, Clarke understood where he was coming from. Raven’s limp will hinder their trip greatly. Should the binding fall through, though Clarke did not expect it to happen, Raven’s life will be in danger. She had no doubts the blacksmith could defend herself, but how long was a different matter entirely. Could she risk it?

Clarke let her eyes roamed about the room and looked back at Raven. She was a mechanic. She would be able to help them make sense of Skaikru’s tech. Like it or not, Clarke needed her for the blood binding. The confidence that oozed from Raven’s very stance gave her the answer she was looking for. Like she did with Monty, Clarke clasped hands together with Raven and pressed their joined fists to her chest. Behind her, she could hear Murphy mutter to himself. She ignored it. Everyone did.

“ _Den dula yu du na shil ai op_. [Then do your job and protect me.]” Clarke said to Raven.

“ _Sha, ai Haiplana_. [Yes, my Queen.]”

Suddenly, the sound of shouting and loud footsteps echoed through the room. Clarke and Murphy exchanged glances. A second later, the door to the throne room opened and Abby of Delfikru walked in. Her dirty hair was a mess. It looked like it hasn’t been washed in weeks. Her eyes, deranged in its color, stared straight at Clarke. The guards that had been guarding the door tried to pull her out but she fought against them. As the Commander of Death’s mother, no one dared use enough force to hurt her.

“What is this blasphemy?” Murphy asked.

He rushed down the dais and made his way to Abby. The people in his path quickly moved to let him through.

“ _Klir ai of! Klir ai of!_ [Let me go! Let me go!]” Abby shrieked, her arms flailing against the roughness of Murphy’s push. “ _Klark kom Delfikru na sen ai in_! [Clarke of Delfikru will hear me!]”

“Murphy,” Clarke called. Murphy pulled his hands away from Abby as if burned and stood to the side, ready for orders. Abby watched, waiting. To everyone else who stared, wide-eyed, she said: “It seems that my mother has important matters to discuss with me. Leave us. Monty, Raven, prepare for Polis. We will leave when I’m done here.”

It took exactly one minute and thirty seconds for the people in the throne room to clear. Clarke walked back up the dais and settled herself back down on her throne. She grabbed the spear Emori had fashioned and admired the blade once more, noticing for the first time the intricate bone inlay work that Emori had done to the wood.

The doors to the throne room slamming shut startled Clarke out of her reverie. She looked up and watched as her mother approached. The woman has changed a lot since they last spoke two years. Many people in the clan knew father’s death took a toll on her but only Clarke knew why she had turned for the worst since his death. Reminded of that, Clarke leaned back against her seat.

“You better have some life changing news to tell if you’re here despite your ban, mom.” Clarke stated.

“I’m here to stop you from binding with that wretched Skaikru boy.” Abby replied.

Clarke scoffed. What else did she expect? Two years of no communication whatsoever and the first thing the woman wanted to speak to her about was the blood binding? It was always about the state of affairs and nothing else. She would have taken that crap when she was younger.

“And how do you plan on doing that?” Murphy asked.

Standing next to her, Murphy slowly sharpened the blade of his dagger with its twin in an act of intimidation. Seriously? She inwardly rolled her eyes at his antics.

“By talking,” Abby hissed at Murphy. “I know that’s foreign to you _natrona_ [traitor], but I’m here to talk to my daughter. Leave us.”

“I do not take orders from you.” Murphy chuckled.

Clarke looked from Murphy to Abby and then back to Murphy. Catching his eye, she slowly nodded her head and dismissed him. Murphy narrowed his eyes at her, raising his hand up to run the blade of his dagger across his neck, and pointed at Abby as if asking for permission. She shook her head and waved him away. Murphy sent a vulgar hand sign her way, sheathed his daggers, and promptly walked out of the throne room.

“I have a very long trip ahead of me.” Clarke said when Murphy was gone. She leaned back against the throne and let out a sigh, a hand resting on her head. She could sense a headache coming. “Don’t waste your breath and don’t waste my time.”

Abby didn’t reply. Instead, she simply stared at Clarke with her dark blue eyes. All the things she wanted to say didn’t need saying. The accusations, the worry, the anxiety that resonated in those eyes were enough to make Clarke uncomfortable. When she could no longer hold her mother’s stare, Clarke got up from her seat and made her way to the floor to ceiling window to her left, staring out at the lush green trees outside. In the distance, she could see people walking through the trees.

“You’re just like your father—idealistic to a fault.” Abby said after a few moments.

There she goes, spouting shit about ideals and her father. That’s what she ever does. Clarke clenched her jaws and turned to look at her mother.

“How dare you,” Clarke said calmly. Her tightly wound fists clenched behind her back said otherwise. “How dare you stand there and tell me my idealism is flawed when you—” Clarke paused, taking a deep breath to stop herself from shouting. She cleared her throat. “Idealistic was wanting to reason with the other clans when they were killing us. Idealistic was wanting to be the good guys when everyone you knew were dying. Spare me your idealistic endeavors, mom.”

“Then listen to me for once in your life, Clarke.” Abby shouted, arms flailing in an attempt to make sense of her own words. “I know what I saw. Thousands of people will die. I’m trying to protect you—all of you.”

“Like you did all those years ago?” Clarke asked with a sardonic smile.  

There was a pause. It was quiet and painful and everything Clarke wanted to take back but couldn’t. She watched as Abby’s face—once filled with anger and anxiety—turn to overwhelming sadness.

“I did what I could,” whispered Abby. Clarke couldn’t bear to look at her. “I did what I could.”  

It was in that moment, with Abby’s voice echoing around her about her efforts, that Clarke was reminded of the blinding anger that overtook her so many years ago. Now… Now there was nothing in Clarke’s heart but disappointment and bitterness.

“Well, you failed.” Clarke replied harshly. “My dad still died.”

“And he dies again and again every time you’re near Murphy.” Abby hissed, the harshness of her mother’s voice forcing Clarke to look at the woman. “Don’t you realize that? Or is the idea of a second chance too ingrained into your head? He killed your father, Clarke!”

“No, you did.” Clarke retorted matter-of-factly. “You killed him when you refused to tell him about the secret weapon. He died because of you, mom.”

“Clarke…” Abby couldn’t say anything. What could she say? She couldn’t deny any of Clarke’s accusations because they were true. The other members of this clan may believe in a lie, but Clarke knew the truth. “Please. You were a child. You shouldn’t have to do what you did.”

Clarke let out a scoff.  

“I stopped being a child the day war came knocking on the door. Don’t use that excuse to justify your actions.”

The change that took place with Abby was immediate. Knowing that pleading and calling on memories were not working, Abby’s features hardened and changed. She straightened her back and stood taller than before. The determination and anger in her eyes was something that Clarke saw once before long ago. For a moment, Clarke thought she had missed it—this side of her mother. The strong determined side was something she had admired for a long time. But she no longer did now.

“What do you think will happen when the Coalition dies?” Abby said. “That Trishanakru and Yuljeda will leave us alone after what you did in the war? Those books you read of democracy and justice may have led you to believe in utopian ideals Clarke, but remember that even though you may not believe in _jus drein jus daun_ , they do.” Abby paused and licked her lips. “When Polis falls, they will ask for blood. Don’t you want to protect your people?”

Clarke closed her eyes at the mention of Trishanakru and Yuljeda, remembering the countless times she saw the clan’s insignias on dead bodies.

After the war, Ingranronakru ceased to exist and Trishanakru’s and Yuljeda’s population plummeted. Clarke wished she could say the only reason they stayed away was because of her status as Wanheda. But she knew that the Mountain Men posed a greater risk to them than Delfikru with their islands. Now that the Mountain Men were defeated, the Coalition was the only thing that kept them from attacking Agarthi head on. Clarke wasn’t a fool.

“I’m protecting them.” She said carefully. “If Polis falls, then marrying Skaikru’s leader will put us on the winning side. Trishanakru and Yuljeda will not be strong enough to stop our two clans.”

“And you think that Skaikru boy will help you? You’re a Grounder.” Abby said, hissing the word ‘grounder’ vehemently.

“Last time I checked, so is he.” Before her mother could say anything else, Clarke made her way to the double doors of the throne room and opened one of them. The guards behind the doors startled into position. She turned back to her mother. “You’ve already said what you needed to say. I think it’s about time you leave.”

“Clarke, please…” Abby said. “Listen to me. Lex—”

“ _Em pleni_! [Enough!]” Clarke shouted, stopping her mother from shouting out what she saw to the soldiers around her.  

With one gesture from Murphy, the guards walked inside and took hold of her mother like a prisoner of war. Clarke did not tell them to treat her otherwise and only watched as they marched her out of the throne room. Resigned to her fate, Abby said nothing and did not resist.

“Mom?” Clarke called. Abby turned to her. The harshness in her gaze did not surprise Clarke. “You may be an Elder here, but I’m in charge. I suggest you do not disregard your ban again, especially after Bellamy and his entourage gets here.”

Abby squared her jaws but said nothing.

“Take Lady Abby to her house and keep her there.” Murphy instructed the guards. “If we find out she so much as put a step off her island, you’ll have to answer to me when I get back. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” The guards saluted.

When the escort group disappeared from view, Murphy turned to her and looked like he wanted to say something scathing. But when he saw the narrowing of her eyes, he quickly dropped the subject. He shrugged nonchalantly and made his walk down the hall. She followed. They walked for a few minutes, walking out of the castle into the bright sunny sky outside.

“Monty and Raven is at the gate then, I’m assuming?” Clarke asked. Murphy nodded his head, deep in his own thoughts. Clarke knew him long enough to know what he was thinking about. “She’s strong enough for this, Murphy.”

Murphy scoffed at her.

“She has a limp that aches after a 15 minute walk. Horse riding will only make it worse.”

“Raven wants this.” Clarke reminded him. “It’s been a year since she left Agarthi. I think it’s time. It’ll be good for her.”

“She’s a fucking dimwit.” Clarke gave him a look. “What? She is.”

“No, she isn’t.”

Murphy looked like he wanted to argue about it some more but decided against it. They continued their walk. When they arrived at the front gate of Delphi’s Castle, they immediately boarded one of the boats Murphy had prepared for their journey. There were two heavily packed backpacks and about a dozen small bags of food littering the floor of the boat. Clarke sat on one corner of the boat, Murphy began to row, and the two of them made their way to the Takama gates in silence.

Despite the calmness the sound of sloshing water and fluttering birds surrounding them, Clarke found herself unable to enjoy such peace. Her mind was running several miles per minute trying to figure out the logistics, the possibilities, and everything and anything in between. If her mother’s predictions were true, and that’s a big if, then that meant Commander Lexa will die in a year’s time. Polis will not fall if the Commander is alive. Did her mother tell Lexa this when they spoke? Or did Lexa already realize this? She must have if she was trying to kill Bellamy.

The question was who will kill Lexa and why? Who would dare kill the Commander? Is it someone who wants to replace her? Clarke has to find out. From what her mother said and what Lexa suspected, Bellamy was going to have a hand in it. But what could possibly be the catalyst? She didn’t know him well enough to judge, but Clarke knew one thing for sure. Bellamy was loyal to his people. If he was going to have a hand in bringing down Lexa and Polis by association, then something must have happened to his people. His people…

Clarke didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to think about whether or not Bellamy would help her should Delfikru’s enemies come for revenge. She had confidently answered her mother in the smoothest way she could, but she couldn’t deny how much her mother’s question rattled her. When the time comes, would Bellamy help her or would he be too busy fighting for the lives of his own people? Could she even blame him if he did? Images of dead bodies and a sea of blood came to her mind and a chill went down her spine. When the time comes, Clarke will do what she has to.

“Why are you bringing so much food?” Clarke asked after a while, breaking the calmness of their journey to Takama Gates.

“I don’t want to bank on _Bellamy_ giving us any.” Murphy snickered.

“You have to let it go, Murphy.” He gave her a look that told her he didn’t know what she was talking about. “You didn’t have to injure him.”

“He deserved it.”

“He’s my consort.”

“That doesn’t give him a right to disrespect you.” Murphy hissed, a hint of unbidden anger in his voice. As if embarrassed by his outburst, he quickly looked away. Clarke said nothing for a long while, opting to look out into the bright blue waters around her. “What did Abby want? Same as usual?” She nodded her head. “Maybe you should listen to her.”

Clarke looked at her second, a frown on her face at his words.

“Not you too.” She said with a sigh.

“The day I agree with the queen mother is the day I die.”

“So you think this is a good thing, the blood binding? I’m not going crazy?”

“For the record, you’re always crazy. I don’t give a damn about your marriage. I don’t give a damn about Skaikru. But I do care about the Coalition. If Skaikru is planning a rebellion, we have to stop it and the only way to do that is from the inside.”

The answer was so _Murphy_ that Clarke wouldn’t help but smile at his words.

“And here I thought you’re growing soft on Skaikru.”

“Did you see me going soft on your consort?” Murphy raised an eyebrow. The feral smile he gave her along with the accidental innuendo made her want to laugh but he looked so seriously she had to bite her lip to suppress her joy. “I beat him to a pulp. Are you—are you laughing at me?”

Clarke shook her head.

“No.” But that was the end of Clarke’s self-restraint because as soon as she looked at his face, she burst out laughing. “You’re so stupid. Don’t talk like this when you meet his sister. I hear she’s a force to be reckoned with.”

“Not to me.”

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

As the main city of the Coalition and the Commander’s base, Polis was always bustling with activity. Now that the blood binding was near, thousands of people flocked to the city like birds in a storm to take part in witnessing the event. That’s the thing with blood bindings. It’s so hard to come by that it’s usually a spectacle.

The roads and streets were heavily congested with people and vendors that it was getting difficult to pass through on horseback. So as soon as they were able, Clarke, Raven, and Monty dismounted their horses and walked on foot. People looked and pointed at them, muttering and whispering quietly amongst themselves. But her group paid them no mind and continued on their way.

The people of Polis made themselves sparse the closer they got to Ityra Tower. Given that it was the Commander’s place of rest, guards were positioned at the five mile radius to shoo away anyone who didn’t have any business at the tower. The blood binding happening that night was another reason why the streets surrounding the tower were so empty of people.

Clarke saw the pyre before she saw the Commander.

Located several yards from the tower, the pyre stood on a raised dais and was at least 10 feet tall and spanned several feet wide. For a moment, Clarke didn’t know what to think. Blood bindings, while not unusual, were far and few in between. As a show of unity, ambassadors from each clan had to band together to build the pyre with their own hands. How long had it taken them to build the big pyre in front of her? It must have taken days. Clarke knew enough about the old traditions to know that ceremonial pyres usually aren’t that high. To have such a big pyre for her marriage, even if it was fake, was a great honor.

As Clarke’s eyes surveyed the area, she spotted Lexa standing to the far left of the pyre talking to her most trusted advisor Titus and Delfikru’s own ambassador Syan. Clarke gestured to her two companions and together, they approached the pyre. Syan, a willowy man with dark skin and a long beard that reached his stomach, looked up and spotted them as they came forward.

“ _Ai Haiplana._ [My Queen.]” Syan greeted. He pressed his fist to his chest and was about to kneel down on the floor but Clarke pulled him up.

“Syan,” said Clarke. “It’s been a while.”

“Oh it’s been too long.” Syan laughed loudly. He glanced at Raven and Monty and gave them an unrestrained smile. “Raven! Monty!”

“Syan!” Clarke’s companions shouted back, all too gleefully.

Clarke smiled at the tandem between the three. There was a reason Syan was chosen as an ambassador. Everyone loved him for his charm and tact and he had a way of getting what he wanted for Delfikru should the situation arises. Clarke turned and watched Lexa carefully. The Commander rolled up the scrolls she’s been previewing and handed it to Titus, turning to look at Clarke with a smile on her face.

“Clarke, I’ve been expecting you.” She said.

“Commander,” Clarke smiled.

She glanced at the group of people around them and back at Lexa. Reading the atmosphere, Titus motioned for Syan, Monty, and Raven and they left Clarke and Lexa alone without another word. Clarke and Lexa stood there for a few moments, just staring at each other. Things didn’t exactly end well the last time they spoke and Clarke was unsure what to do. A second later, Lexa stretched her arm out and gestured towards her.

The Commander put an arm over Clarke’s shoulder and pulled her into a one arm embrace. The two of them walked closer to the pyre together, eyes focused on the giant tower of wood. Again, Clarke couldn’t help but admire the grandness of it all. Half a dozen ambassadors from the clans were gathered around the pyre, busying themselves with the mundane but important task of adding more wood to the base.

“What do you think of this?” Lexa spoke first.

There was a hint of a smile on her face and the sight made her want to smile as well.

“I am honored, Commander.” Clarke replied. “But… is this pyre necessary?”

Lexa glanced at her then.

“We may have our differences Clarke, but I have way too much respect for you to throw together just some _pyre_. This—” She gestured towards the giant pile of wood. “—is what you deserve.”

Clarke smiled, absentmindedly watching the ambassadors add more kindling to the fire as she tried to gather her thoughts. Truth be told, Lexa’s words warmed her heart. Before the war that made Clarke the Queen, they were friends. Perhaps even something more for a brief moment in time. But then the war happened, the Mountain expanded their reign of terror, Lexa became the Commander, and slowly things like friendships, feelings, and love fell through the cracks.

Now years later, things weren’t the same as before. Neither Clarke nor Lexa were bothered by this, that much was true. They’ve both moved on to better things. But it was disconcerting to hear the warmth in the Commander’s voice and know that she had sent someone to kill Bellamy Blake just two weeks ago. Of course, Clarke had no proof of this.

Ilian knew nothing of value apart from the description of the woman who bribed the chieftain. All the other Sankru who had attacked Bellamy and Lincoln were too dead to add any new information. That’s why she had sent Murphy to visit Ilian’s tribe to the west. She needed to find out more information.

A part of Clarke was hesitant on accusing the Commander of the Coalition for something as serious as an assassination attempt on Bellamy’s life. Why would Lexa need to? Knowing her personality, if she had orchestrated something like an assassination, she would not lie about it. As the Commander, she could forcibly bring Bellamy to Polis and make an example out of him for all to see. She had the power. Then again, Clarke was talking about the woman who set up a blood binding for the sole purpose of assassinating Bellamy so… Clarke sighed. She was going around in circles.

“What’s wrong?” Lexa asked.

Clarke looked at her with a raised eyebrow. With a wave of her hand, the ambassadors loitering around removed themselves from the vicinity. It took a few moments but Lexa and Clarke were finally alone. Removing her arm from Clarke’s shoulder, Lexa turned to her. They were so close to each other Clarke could feel the warmth of Lexa’s skin against her own.

“Tell me,” Lexa commanded.

“Bellamy was attacked on his way to Agarthi two weeks ago.” Clarke replied, choosing her words carefully.

She watched as Lexa took the news for what seemed like the first time. Apart from the narrowing of her eyes, nothing on her face betrayed any emotions.

“And you think it was me.” Lexa stated without preamble.

“You’re the one who wants him dead.”

“I’m not the only one, Clarke.”

“But you’re the only one who matter.”

At Clarke’s words, Lexa turned and faced the city behind her. Titus and Syan were talking to Raven and Monty several yards away. The group seemed a bit ill at ease with each other, but Clarke knew it was probably because of Titus’ presence. Being Lexa’s most trusted advisor, Titus was an intimidating man.

Clarke glanced at the Commander. Her arms were held behind her back, clasped together tightly. The rigid way she posed was a striking change from the comfortable carefree pose she had several minutes before. For a moment, Clarke felt a twinge of sadness that Lexa felt she could not be her own person in front of her, but remembered that it was her accusation that made Lexa give her the cold shoulder.

“Tell me you didn’t do it,” said Clarke. “Tell me you didn’t give the kill order and I’ll believe you.”

Lexa looked at Clarke, lips pursed. A few moments passed by without any words exchanged. Then, when Clarke thought the Commander would say something different, Lexa slowly nodded her head.

“If there was an attempt on Bellamy’s life, I did not order it.” Lexa stated matter-of-factly. “Believe it or not, I desperately want this blood binding to be a successful one. I want to avoid bloodshed, Clarke, not be the cause of it.” A pause. “Which clan were they from?”

“Sankru. The survivor belongs to Chief Maki’s tribe.”

Lexa thought for a moment.

“Duke Kane oversees those lands to the west. I’ve quarreled with him many times over for the lands here. Even if I want Bellamy dead, I would not stoop so low to ask for his help.”

“Maybe it wasn’t you…” Clarke replied, trying to draw up some distant memories from a month ago. “Caris answers to him. If I remember correctly, she was one of your candidates for the blood binding.”

Lexa shook her head.

“Maki’s daughter or not, Caris swore her loyalty to me. It is not her you’re looking for.”

“How sure are you about that?”

“How sure are you about Bellamy not waging war against us?”

Clarke stayed quiet, carefully assessing the information she just received. If Caris was the chief’s daughter, then Ilian would have recognized her. But Ilian said he didn’t know the woman. Clarke squared her jaws. Either Ilian was lying or… No. She believed Lexa.

All in all, it was an easy choice to make. Before Lexa was Commander and she the Queen of Delfikru, they were friends. They’ve both made questionable choices since then, but in the end Clarke would trust Lexa with her life and vice versa. If Lexa said she didn’t order Bellamy’s execution, Clarke believed her. Until evidence proves her guilty, of course.

“We’ll get more information when Murphy gets back.” Lexa took a long gaze at Clarke and slowly nodded, deep in thoughts. Clarke raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Aren’t you worried?”

“About what?”

“Murphy.”

Clarke let out a laugh.

“I didn’t realize you had so little faith in me.” Lexa gave her a look. “Why should I worry about something that’s out of my hands? Murphy will have his fight, one way or another. It’s inevitable.”

Lexa looked like she had more to say but decided not to. Instead, she glanced up at the burning sky and let out a sigh.

“It’s late,” she said before turning to Clarke. “You should go get ready. The ambassadors need to put finishing touches on the pyre.”

“Don’t go overboard, Lexa.”

“It’s not every day the Wanheda gets married, Clarke.”

Clarke looked at Lexa. She pressed her fist on her chest and lowered her head in respect. Then, she turned and walked into the Ityra Tower.

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

“ _Oktevia kom Skaikru kaump raun hir_. [Octavia of Skaikru is here.]” The servant announced.

Clarke grabbed a towel hanging from the side of the tub and hurriedly wrapped it around her body just as the doors opened and Octavia of Skaikru walked in. The last time they saw each other, they were fighting for their lives and the lives of Skaikru’s people back in the Mountain. Clarke had no time to look at the woman closely. But now that she had time, Clarke couldn’t help but notice how strikingly Octavia was.

She looked as beautiful and as fierce in her all black attire as she did in her warrior attire from their battle with the Mountain months ago, perhaps in more so. The tattoos on her arms, some of which Clarke recognized as Trikru marriage tattoos, were visible from the sleeveless shirt she wore. She was carrying a bundle of clothes and looked like she did not want to be there at all. A sheathed broadsword hung from her hip.

“Octavia,” Clarke greeted with a restrained smile, brushing beads of water from her face. “Thank you for coming.”

“Like I had a choice,” Octavia replied back. “I’m here to deliver your dress and do your hair, Wanheda.”

Clarke inwardly cringed at the attitude but nodded her head. The two servants besides her came forward and grabbed the bundle from Octavia’s hands. Clarke stepped away from the steaming bathtub and went over to the other side of the room. The chill that came over her as she moved away from the bathtub made Clarke shiver slightly.

Octavia followed her, her boots thudding heavily against the floor. When Clarke sat down in front of the vanity table, Octavia’s hands immediately went to her head. Without so much as a by your permission, Octavia grabbed the brush on the vanity top and started brushing her hair. Clarke said nothing, watching the woman did what she came to do from the reflection of the mirror. She knew it was going to be a bit difficult talking to Bellamy’s sister, but she didn’t realize how difficult Octavia was going to make it.

“So…” Clarke started after a few moments of silence.  “When did you guys get here?”

There was quite a big pause. For a moment, Clarke was sure Octavia wouldn’t answer.

“This morning.”

“That’s good. You had time to rest a bit. Who did Bellamy choose to accompany him? Apart from you that is.”

“Miller and Lincoln. Diana Sydney is also here. She’s going to be our ambassador.”

“That’s good. I’m glad Lincoln explained everything.” Clarke winced as Octavia tugged too hard on her hair. “How is Be—”

“Listen Wanheda,” Octavia interrupted. Their eyes met in the mirror’s reflection. Octavia did not look happy and it showed. “You may be marrying my brother, but I don’t have to be civil to you.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Clarke asked.

Before Clarke could say anything further, a pair of loud gasps behind them made her pause. Octavia and Clarke turned around. The two servants had unraveled the bundle of clothes Octavia brought in and the dress inside slowly revealed itself. One look at the dress and Clarke immediately understood why the servants gasped.

Traditionally, white was the color of death. No one in their right mind would wear that white dress to a wedding, much less a blood binding to be witnessed by all the dignitaries, ambassadors, and the Commander herself. Clarke got up from her seat and went over to the servants. She brushed her hand on the fabric of the dress and looked at it carefully. Yup, it was definitely white. Clarke’s servants exchanged glances but said nothing. They didn’t need to. The disdain was clear on their faces.

“You guys can leave,” Clarke said to them.

At first they seemed indignant and hesitant at the same time. But a second later, they bowed down to her, laid the dress on the vanity table, and left without another word. As soon as the doors closed, Clarke turned to Octavia.

“Didn’t Lincoln tell you?” She asked.

“He did. But white is the traditional color of marriage on the Ark.” Octavia explained. “I personally think it’s fitting, don’t you? White for the Wanheda?”

Clarke didn’t miss the sardonic smirk on Octavia’s face as she said this.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot here,” Clarke said. “I don’t understand where all this antagonism is coming from. Did I do something wrong?”

“Did you do something wrong?” Octavia laughed. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. You can’t even control your second and here we’re expected to let you in on our council? You must be joking.”

Ah, that was the reason she was angry and passive aggressive with her.

“Murphy is his own person. I can’t control him.”

“Clearly.” Octavia scoffed.  

Clarke made to explain herself but the door to the room suddenly opened. As soon as Murphy’s face came into view, several things happened at once. Clarke let out an expletive, Octavia reached back and brandished her sword, and Murphy’s mouth turned upward into a smirk. It was that smirk that sparked Octavia’s rage. It was always that smirk.  

“I’ve been waiting for this moment.” Octavia hissed.

Murphy laughed.

“Good. Let’s see what you’re made out of.”

Octavia let out a cry of anger and rushed forward, sword at the ready. Murphy, prepared for the attack, unsheathed the sword hanging from his side, and rushed towards her. They barreled into each other with a loud clank, their swords pushing against each other.

“Guys!” Clarke shouted. “Stop it!”

She made to grab for her spear at the base of the bathtub but thought better of it. She was half naked after all. Instead she moved towards the vanity, trying her best to avoid the onslaught of sword swishing and slamming against sword around her. Once she reached the vanity desk, she grabbed her wedding dress and quickly slipped it on just before a sword came at her.

Clarke let out a small yelp and ducked, cursing monsters and fathers. Murphy forcibly pushed her aside as he tried to dodge one of Octavia’s parries and Octavia chased after him. After a turn or two, they began to fight each other with full force again. Despite Octavia’s lack of training, she was keeping it up with Murphy. For a hint of a moment, Clarke was impressed. But she knew Murphy was better. Wait, what was she saying? She had to stop them.

With an exasperated sigh, Clarke walked over to the bathtub and kicked up her weapon from the floor. She caught it in her hand with ease. She hadn’t removed the heavy leather covering the ends of her spear yet and knew it’ll come in handy. Turning to face the two angry warriors moving about, Clarke waited for the right opportunity to interfere. Both of them looked tired of running about. The small room didn’t help things.

When Murphy raised his arm and slammed his sword down, Octavia defended herself by blocking with her blade. The clank of the swords hitting each other signaled Clarke’s opening and she immediately ran over to them barefoot. Clarke swung one end of her spear underneath the apex of Murphy’s and Octavia’s crossed blades. The unexpected force of her weapon distracted Octavia and Murphy long enough for her to lodge the small ends of her spear into the swords, lift the blades up, and throw them away from the general area.

Before the two angry kids could react, Clarke went down to her knees, brought her weapon down with her, and swung it sideways. The double ended spear whacked both Octavia and Murphy on the back of their knees and they joined Clarke on the floor, groaning in pain. Three feet away, their swords dropped to the floor with heavy clanks.

“Enough!” Clarke shouted at them. She looked between the two, noting the anger in both of their eyes, and couldn’t help but let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m getting married in less than an hour. The least you guys can do is be civil to one another.”

“He attacked my brother.” Octavia shouted, staring daggers at Murphy’s face.

“He deserved it.” Murphy replied back haughtily.  

Octavia moved to attack Murphy again but Clarke quickly pushed her back down with the strength of her spear. Octavia let out a growl and was about to make a move when Clarke flicked her weapon just enough so that the heavy leather binding the blades slipped out to reveal the metal underneath. If Octavia moved one inch closer, one of the blades would pierce her skin and she definitely did not want that.

“I already dealt with him.” Clarke heard Murphy snicker and she immediately turned to him, the other end of the spear brushing his neck just a tad. “And you, don’t antagonize her any more than you already did.”

“She started it.” Murphy said, making himself comfortable on the floor. Clarke gave him a look and he rolled his eyes, petulantly crossing his arms. “I rushed back from Sankru’s territory for you and this is how you treat me?”

“Sankru?” Octavia perked up. “What did you find out?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Murphy gave Octavia a glare but didn’t say anything else. The unease of talking was clear in the way her second glanced at Octavia. Clarke snapped her finger in front of Murphy’s face to get attention and he turned to scowl at her.

“She’ll find out from Bellamy anyway. Might as well let her hear it now.”

Murphy cleared his throat and reluctantly said:

“Maki’s dead.”

Clarke clenched her jaw as Murphy spoke, a million thoughts running through her head at his simple statement. Their only source of information had just perished. Whatever leads Chief Make could have possibly given them disappeared with her. How were they supposed to figure out who was trying to kill Bellamy now?

From what Murphy said, it seemed like Chief Maki’s death was nothing more than an unfortunate event. But if Clarke knew anything about her second, she knew that he was trying to hide something from the tone of his voice and the gaze he set upon her. He had more information but he was refraining from saying it, undoubtedly because Octavia was there. Clarke glanced at Octavia to find her staring at Murphy and Clarke with narrowed eyes.

“There’s more you’re not telling her,” Octavia accused. She arched an eyebrow. “Well?”

Murphy’s upper lip twitched in annoyance.

            “I don’t believe the tribe members’ statements at all. A chief’s demise, no matter how unexpected, should warrant messengers being sent out immediately to announce the death. It is Sankru’s way. I saw no such messengers on my journey there even though they told me she had passed 2 days before my arrival.”

            “Did you examine the body?”

            “They did not give me the honor.”

            “What was the point of your trip then?” Octavia asked pointedly, causing Murphy to jerk in anger where he sat.

            “I don’t work for you Skaikru bi—”

            “Murphy.” Clarke interrupted.

Her exposed spear inched closer to his thigh as a warning.

“It could have been anyone. Someone in the clan themselves. Someone from outside the clan. We have no idea. No one would talk to me about it. I do know one thing though.” Murphy took a dramatic pause. “Duke Kane had visited a week prior for a mandatory meeting before the harvest. During his visit, he did not see anyone but the Chief which was… unusual to say the least.”

“Isn’t he the head of Sankru? Is it that unusual?”

“It is if you know how power hungry the man is,” Murphy replied. He turned to Clarke. “He’s planning something, I know it. Maybe with Azgeda. I saw some of their scouts going home on my way to Polis. You know they shouldn’t have been there.”

“I see…” Clarke said, carefully thinking of her options. “Go report it to Lexa.”

“What?” Octavia exclaimed. “Don’t.”

“I don’t answer to you.”

Murphy made to get up but Octavia reached her arms over, grabbed his arms, and pulled him down. Clarke quickly pulled her weapon away from their reach before both of them get hurt by the exposed blades of the spear, watching as Murphy slapped Octavia’s hands away and pushed himself back so they were no longer touching. If anyone were to walk into the room at this very much, the three of them would have been a sight to behold sitting on the floor glaring at one another like death was coming. In a way, it was.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Murphy hissed.

“One of your clans went rogue, attacked my brother, and you’re just going to report it to Lexa like nothing’s wrong?”  

“Who else would I report it to then?” Murphy asked.

“She’s the Commander! Did you ever stop to think she might have something to do with it?” Octavia scoffed.

A long pause silenced the three members in the room. Clarke didn’t want to say anything that might be misconstrued as a lie considering she also suspected Lexa of foul play. Octavia looked like she was contemplating who to kill. And Murphy… Murphy looked pissed. When the anger in his body boiled over, he quickly got up from the floor and brushed the dirt off his attire. Clarke noticed they were his old ones. He really needed to get changed if the blood binding is happening. Following his lead, Clarke and Octavia got up as well and the three of them exchanged glances.

“What makes you think _we_ don’t have anything to do with it?” Murphy asked.

Knowing where he was going with this whole conversation, Clarke gave him a warning look.

“Murphy…”

“No, you know what? This is bullshit!” Murphy hissed, pushing away Clarke’s gentle hand to glare hard at Octavia. She stared back, unrelenting in her anger. It looked like they were playing a game of who could get angrier than the other and only Clarke’s double ended spear stopped them from getting closer and smacking the shit out of each other. “I don’t care how long Skaikru wants to play this fucking blame game but enough is enough. I’m done with this shit.”

“And just what do you mean by that?” Octavia asked.

“Do you know how many people your brother roasted with that drop ship fire of his? Or that bomb you guys dropped on the bridge? Or the missiles you sent up the air and landed on our villages?” Murphy scoffed. “Hundreds of people left behind family members and friends who, for all you know, might want Bellamy’s head because of what he did. He’s not as innocent as you think he is. The only reason why he’s not dead right now is because of the Commander’s truce—”

“She left us to die!” Octavia shouted back.

“—and  this blood binding with the Wanheda herself.” Murphy continued without missing a beat. “Like it or not, Delfikru, Trikru, and the Commander are the only ones on your side right now. Think about that before you blame us for trying to kill your brother because as far as I’m concerned, he deserves it.”

“Say that again, I dare you.”

Murphy didn’t raise to the dare but calmly looked at Octavia with narrowed eyes.

“Tell me this, Octavia. If you don’t trust us, why are you here?”

Octavia took a moment to answer. The insecurities, the turmoil, and the dilemma of defending her brother’s wrongdoings were written all over her face for everyone to see. It seemed as if she agreed with Murphy for why Bellamy deserved to be punished but could not, for all intents and purposes, actually elucidate her thoughts without fear of betraying the only brother she has ever known. With what she knew of Skaikru’s ways, Bellamy and Octavia were the first and ever siblings on the Ark. They had something special. Octavia would never betray Bellamy and he would never let her get into danger. As Clarke stared at the woman in front of her, Clarke wondered—just briefly—if Octavia will be the reason for Polis’s demise.

“Lexa left my people at the mercy of the Mountain. I will never trust her, especially about something as important as my brother’s life.” Octavia said carefully, looking between Clarke, Murphy, and back to Clarke. “The only reason I’m here today, braiding your hair of all things, is because Bellamy trusts you for whatever reason. He may have deluded himself into thinking you’re our friend because you helped us at the Mountain. But I am not. So tread carefully, Clarke. I will be watching. If you so much as hurt him, I will come for you.”

“Is that a threat?” Her second asked.

Murphy stepped forward to invade Octavia’s space and the woman in question did the same, their anger and indignation bursting forth from the way they carried themselves. Not wanting to witness another fight breaking out, Clarke pressed her hand on Murphy’s chest and gave him a firm push in the other direction. Octavia paused at her interference but did not back away. Rather, she moved forward just to anger Murphy further. Having no choice but to use her ultimate weapon, Clarke swung her spear in one hand and watched as Murphy and Octavia took several steps back in order to avoid being hit.

“Enough! We’re wasting time here.” Clarke said, turning to look at her second. “Go help Bellamy get ready. I will not have you embarrass Delfikru with your lack of respect.”

“Don’t forget I have a claim to you.” He said through gritted teeth.

Murphy turned his focus to her, tightening his grip on the handle of his sword as he stared into her eyes. Clarke stared back at him, remembering that little boy years ago staring at her with that same haunted possessive look. What was going on in his head? Why was he acting this way? She didn’t understand the sudden change. But this was not the time or the place for such tantrums.

“And you will have your fight when the day approaches. I promised you that long ago and I will not break it.” Clarke said, ignoring the inquisitive look thrown at her from Octavia. She kept her eyes on Murphy. “Until then, you are obligated to do as I say. Or are you invoking your rights to fight me right now?”

Clarke gestured towards her spear and watched as Murphy’s eyes landed on the blades. The gleam of the metal shone brightly against the lights around them. A change came over Murphy then and he straightened his body to look up at her. Gone was the focused anger. Gone was the possessiveness. Lips pursed, he cleared his throat, brushed off some lint from his knees, and made his way to the door.

Octavia looked like she had a million questions on her mind but no one spoke as they watched him open the double doors. Murphy paused at the threshold, turning around to look at Clarke and Octavia. His eyes took a quick survey of the disheveled room and paused on Clarke. A smile—a smirk, really—appeared on his face.

“I like the color choice,” he noted.

Clarke looked down at her attire, remembering just why she had to dismiss the servants earlier, and let out a sigh, rolling her eyes when she heard Murphy laugh.

“Shut up,” she said. Despite her disapproval, she couldn’t help but smile at the jest.

“Hey, white for the Wanheda right?”

Murphy’s laugh echoed down the hallway as he left the room and slowly died when the double doors slammed shut behind him. Clarke and Octavia stood there. For a moment, Clarke wanted to point out the similarity between Octavia and Murphy—particularly when it came to her wedding dress color—but the look on Octavia’s face told her she would be pushing her luck. Instead, Clarke cleared her throat and quickly went to the vanity table.            

To say Clarke didn’t like what she saw in front of the mirror was an understatement. The white dress had an asymmetrical skirt that trailed from her right thigh down to the ground on the left. The halter neckline curved and then plunged to her belly button and only a thin layer of sheer white fabric hid her cleavage. Who in the world designed this and why did it look so tacky and ugly? Is this something Skaikru women wear to their weddings up in space? Clarke looked down at her chest for a few moments in trepidation and then twirled around to look at the bare back her dress exposed. Ugh. Did she really have to wear something as gaudy as this to her wedding?

“It’s not so bad.” Octavia said dryly.

Clarke looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

“I look like I’m trying too hard to seduce your brother.” She commented. Octavia looked like she wanted to laugh but was trying very hard not to. Clarke narrowed her eyes. “You’re not pranking me, are you?”

“Why, I would never.” Octavia chuckled ominously. Clarke let out a sigh and glanced at her reflection in the mirror once again. “You can make modifications, if you want.”

“Is that a peace offering?” Clarke asked.

A pause.

“For now.” Octavia shrugged. “I meant what I said, Clarke. About killing you if something happens to Bellamy.”

“I wouldn’t expect it any other way.” Clarke looked around the room. “Now, help me with this crap."

The two of them worked in silence, gathering bits and pieces of armor from Clarke’s usual attire and adding it on to her dress so that it’ll blend in together seamlessly. Hopefully, at least. It’s a hard task to even consider in the limited time they had. Half way through their task, the servants Clarke had previously dismissed came back with tea and they drank some as they continued on.

In the end, Clarke and Octavia decided on adding leather pants with metal leg guards, a leather jacket that tied in the back with crisscross ribbons made out of chain mail, and a segmented metal shoulder guard with fragments of bones sticking out as the armor curved down the side of her shoulder.

Looking at herself in the mirror one last time, Clarke couldn’t help but feel a bit happier than before. With the new additions of armor to the otherwise gaudy dress, she looked really cool. The dark leather blended well with the gray metal and white dress. Octavia also did a pretty good job with the braids as well.

“Thank you,” Clarke said.

Clarke stared at the reflection of Octavia from the mirror and flashed a smile. The woman grunted but said nothing about the matter. Clarke didn’t know what else to say and Octavia looked like she didn’t either. It’s not as if they had any common interest, apart from keeping Bellamy alive, but that’s nothing something they wanted to talk about.

A firm knock on the door saved the two of them from having to make small talk. Clarke quickly went to the door and opened it. Standing on the other side was Lexa, fully clothed in her Commander attire. Her signature dark red cloak fluttered behind her.

“It’s time,” Lexa stated. She paused to let her eyes take in Clarke’s attire. She looked like she wanted to say something about it but thought better of it. “Are you rea—Octavia? What are you doing here?”

Clarke turned slightly and watched as Octavia stepped forward, nodding her head. Knowing Octavia’s attitude, Clarke guessed that was as much as Lexa would get from her.

“I had to get her ready.” Octavia replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

“You should go down to the pyre, they’re waiting for you.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

Without another word, Octavia pushed her way out of the door and disappeared down the hall. Clarke and Lexa watched her go. Once they could no longer hear the sound of Octavia’s footsteps, Clarke stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind her. The Commander and Clarke made their way down the hallway and stairs in silence, broken only once or twice by simple but awkward small talk.

After a ten minute walk down the many stairs, the two of them finally made it to the first floor of the Tower. They found themselves surrounded by darkness. According to traditions, from now to the end of the ceremony, no one had the right to light any flame except a chosen few. Even the Commander had no right to light a flame at this time and so the two made their way to the main lobby in the dark.

“Commander,” two voices called out in the dark.

It was Bellamy and Lincoln, Clarke had no doubts about it. Not only were their voices distinctive, they were the only ones who should be there at the lobby at this time. Everyone else was outside of the Tower. In the dark, she could sense them nodding their heads as Clarke and Lexa approached. She could hear the murmurs and whispers of the people waiting outside and couldn’t help but take a deep breath to calm the sudden nerves that took over her.

Clarke glanced at Bellamy in the dark. Was he just as nervous as she was or was this all her? Honestly, what was she thinking signing up for this? If she had just let Lexa mark her chosen, then Clarke wouldn’t have to deal with this. There would have been no blood binding, at least not for her anyway, and she wouldn’t have to wrack her brains trying to prevent a war that might or might not happen. In the end, doesn’t everyone die? What makes her think she could stop this? Because she was the—

“Wanheda,” Bellamy and Lincoln greeted. Their voice snapped her out of her thoughts and she turned to them. It was hard to make out their expressions in the dark.

“Awfully quiet here, isn’t it?” Bellamy asked.

His awkward attempt at a joke was lost to Lexa and Lincoln but Clarke couldn’t help but let out a snort. Everyone turned to look at her. Ugh, now who is awkward? Clarke cleared her throat and looked away, unable to control the smile that graced her face when she heard Bellamy chuckle.

“ _Natrona_. [Traitor.]” Lexa called. Everyone knew who she was referring to. “I hope you trained Octavia well. Thousands of people are out there. Any mistake she makes during the ceremony today will not be forgotten.”

“She will do well,” Bellamy replied without missing a beat. “My sister has the best teacher in this land.”

“Let us hope so,” laughed Lexa.

Clarke said nothing about the slight against Lincoln’s name. There was nothing she could say that would make the situation better. Lexa considered Lincoln a traitor for helping Skaikru when they fell from the sky and even more so when she found out he was fraternizing with Octavia. The only reason why Lincoln said nothing to Lexa’s jibe, now or before, was because he understood where she was coming from. In a sense, he knew it to be true. There was nothing Clarke could say to ease him of his guilt of betraying his clan.

Two minutes after Clarke, Lexa, Lincoln, and Bellamy took their positions in front of the entrance doors, the sound of drums began to beat loudly all around them until it turned into a deafening rhythm. A horn blared and within seconds, the entrance to the Ityra Tower opened. In the shine of the moonlight, Clarke could see hundreds—thousands, really—of eyes staring at them. But she couldn’t pay attention to that. She tore her eyes from the silent spectators to look at the Commander’s flame keeper Titus standing just several feet in front of them.

Dressed in his ceremonial garb, Titus was carrying the only source of light in the entire city. The torch burned brightly and covered half his face in a forbidding way. Without saying a word, Titus gave one bow of his head, turned around, and walked up the man made dais. The four of them trailed behind him, circumventing the large wooden pyre in the middle to stop in the very front of the dais for all the spectators to see. The drums that had announced their arrival just moments before died down.

At this part in the ceremony, Lincoln bid good bye to the group and walked down the dais to join the crowd below him. Lexa, knowing it was her time to call upon the start of the ceremony, took the flaming torch from a kneeling Titus. No one paid attention to the flame keeper when he made his leave as Lexa turned to the crowd.

No one spoke.

Nothing moved.

Everyone watched the trio in front of the looming pyre with anticipation.

Then, just when the waiting was becoming too much, Lexa raised the torch up above her head and shouted:

“ _Yo no jomp in!_ [You may begin!]”

Thousands of people cheered, igniting a big roar that drowned out the drums that started beating the second Lexa finished her exclamation. Seconds later, the crowd parted away and Murphy, donning Delfikru’s traditional armored attire made from various leathers, bone, and blue cloth, took his place in the center of the arena in front of the dais. His face, free from all warrior marks and shadowed by the moonlight, looked focused. The ring of spectators around him waited with bated breath, watching every languid movement of the man as he approached.

Clarke bit her lower lip in anticipation.

When the sound of the drums once again pierced through the silence of the night, Murphy began the ceremonial dance. He reached behind him to take out a pair of daggers from his belt. They didn’t look like his usual daggers. Where did he get those? It didn’t take long for Clarke to recognize the signature curved bones protruding from the hilts for what they were and couldn’t help but glance down at her own sword at her side. Emori has been busy with more than just Wanheda’s sword.

Turning back to the performance, Clarke watched as he twirled the daggers in his hands. The glare of the blades twirling against the moonlight all around him was slightly blinding and mesmerizing at the same time but no one tore their eyes away. They couldn’t, especially with Murphy’s languid but precise movements towards the raised dais where Clarke and Bellamy stood waiting. His aim, however, was not them. Standing there in the middle of the raised dais, Lexa waited with her hand outstretched carrying the torch given to her by Titus. While it was small, the torch was the only source of light in the arena and Murphy followed it like moth to a flame.

“Come on, you can do this.” Clarke whispered under her breath.

When he was two feet away from Lexa, Murphy lowered himself on the ground, propped himself with one hand, and twirled where he stood. As soon as his feet lined up in front of the Commander, he pushed himself up just a bit, and swung sideways to kick the torch from Lexa’s outstretched hand. Three things happened in a span of thirty seconds.

Just as the flaming torch flew up into the air, Murphy flipped himself to his feet and swung his right hand down. The dagger he held tore through the torch, the metal of his blade ignited into flames at the contact, and the torch split in half. Murphy pulled the dagger back to his side, turned around to look at the crowd behind him, and raised his arm up in the air—flaming dagger in hand and all. He let out a battle cry.

The crowd cheered loudly and grew to deafening heights when Murphy struck his flaming dagger against the blade of his left dagger, causing fire to spark and spread through the second blade. As soon as he raised his blades, crossed against one another up on top of him, the torch he had split in half landed on the ground in the precise position it needed to be. A wall of flame sprang up from the ground and quickly spread in a big circle around Murphy. The crowd screamed—in fear? in anger? in exciting anticipation?—and moved back several paces.

While everyone in the crowd moved back to accommodate the flames around Murphy, one person walked towards it with her sword at her side. Octavia of Skaikru, dressed in the same leather attire Clarke saw her in ten minutes previously, walked past the wall of flames and into the ring of fire. Murphy and Octavia acknowledged each other with a nod of their heads, brandished their respective weapons, and began to circle each other.

The beating drums and the horns that followed with Octavia’s entrance began to tell a story with its beats and Murphy and Octavia waited. When the right beat came, Octavia swirled her sword in her hand and began her attack on Murphy. She slammed her blade forward and Murphy crossed his flaming daggers in front of his face to stop the attack. The moment Octavia’s sword came into contact with Murphy’s crossed daggers, the blade burst into flames.

But that didn’t stop the two from continuing their attacks on one another.

If one didn’t look too closely, they would think Murphy and Octavia were trying their best to kill each other. But they were wrong. With those fluid movements, those perfectly choreographed dodges, and the restrained power behind each lunge and parry, one can only call what they’re doing dancing. It was a ritualistic dance made of fire and metal and flesh that melded and blended together in a blur of smoke and flames. At the height of the music, Murphy and Octavia moved to the edge of the wall of flames, dousing the circle of fire in their wake with their boots as they danced their way to where Clarke and Bellamy stood waiting.

By the time they came and knelt down on the ground in front of their superiors, the fire that had been ignited by Lexa’s fallen torch had died. The crowd was, once again, covered in darkness. Only Octavia’s blade and Murphy’s daggers provided light and oh did they shine brightly. Clarke took a deep breath and stepped forward, ignoring the acrid smell of smoke lingering in the air. Movement to her right told her Bellamy did likewise. The two of them were so close to Murphy and Octavia that Clarke could feel the heat giving off their weapons where she stood.

“ _Bellomi kom Skaikru, Wanheda em gona, ai laik Moorfi kom Delfikru_. [Bellamy of Skaikru, Wanheda’s warrior, I am Murphy of Delfikru].” Murphy shouted out. “ _Ai don lid yu shuda._ [I brought you your weapon.]”

“ _Wanheda, oso haiplana, ai laik Okteivia kom Skaikru. Ai don lid yu shuda_. [Wanheda, our queen, I am Octavia of Skaikru. I brought you your weapon.]”  

Knowing that it was their cue to start their party in the ceremony, Bellamy and Clarke exchanged one quick glance at one another before stepping forward to grab the flaming sword and daggers offered to them. Bellamy took one of Murphy’s daggers, twirled it in his hands thrice, and turned his body to face Clarke. Now left with one flaming dagger, Murphy bowed until his forehead touched the ground in front of him and quickly doused the flames.

Clarke took Octavia’s sword and swung the broadsword in front of her three times, being careful not to hit Octavia along the way. Once that was done, she turned and faced Bellamy. If she wanted to wince at the heat radiating off of Octavia’s sword, Clarke couldn’t imagine how painful it must feel for Bellamy with the dagger in his hand. It was shorter, has been burning for longer than hers, and the flames looked to be bigger in comparison.

Clarke’s eyes trailed up from the flames of Bellamy’s dagger to look at the man she was marrying. Despite the antagonism between the two, Murphy has prepared Bellamy well. His usual curly dark hair was braided tightly against his head so that only a tuft of hair freely moved on top of his head. Unlike her bright white dress, his attire was a somber blue that looked almost black in the darkness around them.

But the flaming blades in his hand showed her the true colors and he looked good in it. The fitted shirt and pants was tightly secured with what Clarke could see as leather arm and leg guards lined with bone and metal. A black cloak hung from his shoulders, clasped together with a brooch that had Delfikru’s insignia carved on it.

Despite the darkness of the night, she could read all the anxiousness radiating off of him with just a look in his eyes. He was afraid. He was worried. He was, for all intents and purposes, marrying someone he didn’t know and that must be anxiety inducing in and of itself. But it was more than that. They both knew it. He had a lot riding on this.

Clarke looked around her. She could see Murphy shifting ever so slightly in his uncomfortable position on the ground. Octavia was looking up at her with a defiantly strong gaze, willing her to not make any mistakes. In the outer circle where everyone else waited, Lincoln stood next to Miller who stood next to her two chosen warriors Raven and Monty. Titus was whispering something to Syan and the man was trying his hardest not to burst out laughing. Clarke didn’t even know Titus could even make jokes.

Suddenly, a man appeared from the corner of her eyes and she turned her gaze to look at him. A chill went down Clarke’s spine as she set her eyes upon the man and she quickly turned her gaze back to Bellamy, trying but failing to keep the panic from reaching her eyes at who she just saw. There was no mistaking it. Taking a deep breath that didn’t help her at all, Clarke cleared her throat and shouted:

“ _Ai laik Klark kom Delfikru_.”

“Don’t do this.” His familiar voice called out to her from the sea of people.

Clarke kept her eyes forward. Bellamy, as if sensing her unease, furrowed his brows. He paused for a moment. Was she really that bad at controlling her emotions? Clarke straightened her stance and stared back at Bellamy with an eyebrow raised. Remembering his task, he cleared his throat and announced himself.

“ _Ai laik Bellomi kom Skaikru._ ”

“Clarke, don’t do this.” The same voice whispered.

Clarke closed her eyes, willing him to disappear. But when she opened them again, she could still see the man. He was close now. He was so close she could feel him breathing down her neck. Or were they just the beads of sweat now trailing down her back? She couldn’t tell. Her hands started to shake at her sides as his voice called out to her again.

“He will die, Clarke.” The man said.

Clarke cleared her throat and caught Bellamy’s eyes. They both extended their hands out in front of each other and slowly cut the palms of their hands open with the flaming weapons given to them. The slash that tore through Clarke’s left palm was nothing compared to the burn from the heated metal and she tried her best not to yell out or cringe from it all. Across from her, Bellamy looked like he wasn’t having the best time of his life either.

“Just like I did.”

Clarke looked down at her now injured hand, watching as blood began to seep through the curves and indents of her palm to drip onto the floor below. Once, long ago, her hands were drenched in warm blood too. Just like now. The only difference was… What was the difference? She didn’t know and the thought was sickening.

Clarke almost let out a cry of despair. But then she remembered where she was, what she was doing, and how old she was. When she looked up, the man she was imagining was standing right next to Bellamy, watching her carefully. Like Bellamy’s hand, blood was seeping through his abdomen and he looked as pained as she did, if not more.

Besides him, Bellamy looked concerned. He mouthed a question, afraid to ruin the ceremony by saying unnecessary words, and raised an eyebrow at her. She shook her head to dismiss him. A second later, she reached forward and they clasped their cut palms together, blending in the two blood lines with that one ultimate gesture. They stepped forward so their fists touched their chests. Clarke didn’t have to look down to know that their blood was dripping and seeping through their attires.

“Clarke, you are the Wanheda.” The man whispered into her ears. His voice was so familiar, so raspy, so lovely that her chest ached from hearing it. “Death follows you. Don’t do this to him.”

Clarke ignored the man. Keeping her eyes on Bellamy, she nodded her head. Together, they said:

“ _Oso tai choda op kom jus._ _Ai sonraun laik yu sonraun._ _Osir keryon ste teina. Em nag a sin in_. [We bind ourselves in blood. My life is your life. Our souls are entwined. It will be witnessed.]”

For several moments, no one spoke and nothing happened. Clarke and Bellamy waited—blood seeping through the materials of their attires, flames burning their otherwise unwounded hands—for any sign of recognition. After what seemed like hours, Lexa finally stepped down the stairs and took her place in the middle of the arena. Thousand pairs of eyes followed her every move.

“ _Ai na sin em in_. [I will witness it.]” Lexa said.

With her words, Clarke and Bellamy pulled themselves away from their awkward embrace and turned around so that they faced the pyre that loomed over them. They raised the weapons in their hands up into the sky and carefully pressed their flaming weapons to the base of the pyre. As if doused in oil, the fire from the blades sputtered once and then twice before bursting into flames.

What was once just a tall pile of woods roared to life and Clarke and Bellamy had to take several steps back to not be burned further by the flames, dropping the heated blades in their wake. When they turned around to look at the crowd, Murphy and Octavia had joined Lexa where she stood.

“ _Ai na sin em in_.” They said in unison.

The man who had haunted Clarke ever since his death looked around at the people kneeling in front of Clarke and shook his head violently.

            “No.” He shouted.

From the crowd, Bellamy’s chosen two Miller and Lincoln stepped forward followed by Clarke’s very own Raven and Monty.

“ _Ai na sin em in_.” They repeated.

“No! Don’t witness it! She will kill him!”

What followed was a haunting chant of “ _ai na sim em in_ ’ from thousands and thousands of guests who had waited, took part in, and witnessed Clarke and Bellamy’s blood binding ceremony. Every single one of the vows was echoed by the haunted man’s repeated shouts of ‘no!’ He shouted at the witnesses, clawing at them with his arms and pushing them out of the way. But it was to no avail because he was a hallucination. Nothing more. So why did it feel so real?

Clarke closed her eyes tightly against the screams, remembering the feel of warm blood pouring on her hands. At the last echo of the witness vows, the man collapsed to his knees. Blood poured out of him like a stream after torrential rain. The loud gasp that haunted her memories echoed in her head, his wails of anguish desperately tearing at her.

“Just like she killed me…” He whispered gently.

His eyes stared right at Clarke and she could see the reflection of herself in his eyes. The brightness of the fiery pyre behind her made it all the more clearer. Tears blurred Clarke’s vision and she desperately tried to remain sane as the man let out another gasp of pain. Clenching her hands into fists behind her, Clarke straightened her body and cleared her throat. Her left palm burned from the pain of her cut and that was the only thing keeping her grounded.

“ _Em nag a sin in_. [It will be witnessed.]” Clarke said to him, lips quivering uncontrollably.

The man struggled with it, shaking his head violently as he tried to combat her command. Tears fell from his eyes. Then, blood came pouring out from his lips. Just like he did once before. Clarke kept her straight face and waited.

            “ _Ai na sim em in_. [I will witness it.]” He said with his dying breath.

            Then, just like that, the man’s head fell to the ground in a pool of his own blood.

Voices, shouts, and crinkling firewood suddenly became louder until Clarke could no longer stand it. She looked around and found herself being bombarded with hugs by Monty and Raven, their whispered congratulations falling to deaf ears. The soft beats of drums echoed in her head. Or was it actually happening? Clarke could no longer tell.

Pulling herself from the embrace of her two friends, Clarke turned to the blazing fire behind her and watched the wood burn. Watching the fire reach its height of 12’ tall, it was not hard to accept the fact that after almost a month of preparation, Clarke was finally married to a man who might or might not kill the world she knows. And maybe, just maybe, she would have to kill him.

Just like she did Finn.

            “Clarke?” Someone asked, sounding like he was very far away. She turned to her left and watched as Bellamy entered her swirling vision. “Are you alright?”

Was she alright? She blinked and shook her head to keep her vision from swaying.

            “Yes, I am.” Clarke threw her head back and let out a laugh as if Bellamy just made the greatest joke of his life.

She took the time to look around. The first group of people she noticed was the dead people. They were loitering about with blood pouring out of them like it was natural. They all looked at her with guilt and anger in their eyes. The second group she noticed was the friendly group. They were the crowd of chosen ones from Clarke and Bellamy’s group of people, muttering amongst themselves offering congratulations like traditions dictated. No doubt Octavia and Murphy hated doing it. But it was a sign of unity and it must be shown for everyone to see.

Everyone else… Now that the ceremony was over, celebrations were to be had. The third group of people was running all over the place carrying torches, drinks, and food. The drinks and food… The drinks… Clarke turned back to a concerned Bellamy. She grabbed the lapel of his shirt and pulled him closer to her. His arms went around her waist to keep her steady.

“Hey there husband.” Clarke giggled.

Faintly, she registered the sound of a whistle but did not pay attention to it.

“Clarke, you’re scaring me.” Bellamy said. “Are you alright?”

“Don’t freak out.” Clarke raised herself on her tip toes and kissed his ear lobe gently, quietly answering his question as she did so. “But I’ve been poisoned.”

Clarke rested her head on the apex of his shoulder and let out a breath, moaning quietly as her vision swirled. Had his arms not tighten around her, Clarke would have fallen and that would have been a sight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please ignore the fact that one might get seriously burned swinging swords and daggers around. Murphy and Octavia are quite experienced. Do not try this at home.
> 
> I would like to thank the Mad Max Fury Road ost for helping me write the ceremonial dance scene. It helped a lot. 
> 
> A word of warning, things will get more gory and contain more sexual content in the following chapters. 
> 
> As always, please give kudos or comments as you desire. Thank you! Until next time.


	6. Interrogation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains foul language, graphic details of blood and torture, and emotional distress. 
> 
> You have been warned.

****  
Bellamy’s heart raced.

He was freaking out. In his mind he knew what she meant when she whispered the word ‘poisoned’ into his ears, but what _in the world_ did she mean by ‘poison’? And if she really was poisoned, how did she expect him to not freak out about this? The sheer amount of thoughts dashing through his mind at the moment was overwhelming and he wanted to scream at her to let out the frustrations in his system. But one look at the blonde woman’s face and he swallowed all the nervousness down in his throat to tighten his hold on her even more.

“It’s okay,” whispered Bellamy. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

He looked out into the sea of Grounders loitering about, searching carefully for his group of people. . There were so many—thousands upon thousands—that he was unsure of what he was searching for. Who was his enemy? Who was his friend? The insecurity was unsettling at best. What was he thinking bringing only 2 dozen armed sentries to Polis? Lexa had thousands and thousands of her own people here to witness the ceremony. If they wanted to, they could have killed every single Skai—wait a minute. Where was Lincoln? Where was Octavia? He just saw them seconds ago.

Bellamy’s head swiveled back and forth again but even with the bright lights from the fire behind him, he wasn’t able to pick out his sister’s face in the sea of thousands. Where did she go? Suddenly, the sound of a drum beating echoed in the night air and the cacophony of words exchanged, cups clinking, and metal scraping against metal stopped. Bellamy straightened his posture and watched as the crowd before him separated like the sea parting to form a path.

Delfikru’s ambassador Syan and Skaikru’s newly appointed ambassador Diana dressed in their finest garbs stood in front of the pathway, arms gestured backwards to point at the makeshift red tent that had suddenly sprung up. Had it always been there? Shaking his head to keep his thoughts clear, Bellamy nudged Clarke and they slowly made their way down the path. As a sign of respect, everyone had their heads bowed and eyes lowered to the ground. Bellamy thanked the gods that were watching for that one minute detail. It would not do for the clan members to see their beloved Wanheda slumping ever more so against his side.

Bellamy didn’t know what he was expecting when he entered the ceremonial marriage tent, but a wooden bathtub in the middle of the room, a small console table at the back of the room with an elaborately layered tray of food, and a king sized bed dressed with various furs were not it. He had expected something more barbaric and minimalistic like a small bed with some blankets. After all, what exactly did one need to ‘consummate’ a marriage, right?

But as he moved further into the room, he realized how wrong his line of thinking was. The bathtub in the middle of the room was a beautiful piece of wood, extremely dense, and had an interesting grain pattern that, upon closer examination, matched with the console table. He was sure if he lifted the furs on the bed, the wooden frame would match everything else.  

A quiet moan from the woman in his arms snapped Bellamy out of his reverie and he gently guided Clarke to the bed. After setting her down on the edge of the mattress, Bellamy knelt down in front of her and examined her face. The paleness of her skin was a stark contrast against the red flush of her chest, the rash spreading ever so slowly up her neck. It wasn’t there before during the ceremony.

A layer of sweat decorated Clarke’s face and she looked dazed, eyes dilated to a dark blue. Has it always been this dark? He didn’t remember. When did this happen? How did it happen? And why did he let it happen? He had been so focused on joining the Coalition, on completing the blood binding, on keeping his people safe that he had neglected to even check in on her—his ally and now wife.

Yes, she was his wife now.

Like it or not, willing or not, choices or no choices, Clarke was now his wife. Her people were his people. They are one, just like their oaths had indicated. What did Clarke say before? If they wanted this marriage to work without conflicts within the two clans, they had to be in sync. She had sent Murphy, her most trusted warrior, to find out who put the kill order out on Lincoln and himself. Why didn’t he have the courtesy to send some guards to look after her when she was getting ready? The guilt Bellamy felt at the Clarke’s concern and his own lack of it gnawed at him but there’s no time for that. The guilt can come later. Now, he needs to get his shit together.

Bellamy got up and went to the entrance of the tent, pulling the leather flaps open to peek outside. 12 clan sentries guarded the entrance, each one holding a lighted torch in one hand and a sword in the other. At his appearance, they turned to him. Even though Lincoln had prepared him for this aspect of the traditional ceremony, he was taken aback by it. The warriors looked very menacing in their pose. For a few seconds, he didn’t know what to say. But as soon as he spotted Murphy, Miller, Monty, and Raven loitering a few yards away, concern written all over their faces, he took a deep breath and turned to the guards.  

“Bring me the chosen ones!” He said authoritatively to them.

Without waiting for their answers, he went back inside and checked on Clarke. He was only gone for a minute but the once silent Clarke was now giggling like a crazy lady, her eyes fluttering back and forth between him standing over her and the floor.

“Clarke?” He asked gently, brushing the sweat off her face.  

Sitting down next to her on the bed, he put a hand on Clarke’s knee and gently nudged her. She giggled a response and turned to him, the calm smile on her face multiplying the sense of uneasiness pooling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t help but stare into her dark blue eyes. However unsettling they were, it reminded him of home back in the Ark. Tightening his grip on her knee, Bellamy pressed his forehead to hers. Their breathing, one erratic and the other calm, slowed to match each other and Clarke slowly came down from her high to focus her gaze on him.

“Don’t worry.” Clarke said confidently, her breathe hot against his face. “I’m practically immune to this.”

“Says the girl who is sweating like crazy, princess.” Bellamy remarked.

She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“I’m a queen.”

“I don’t see a crown.” Clarke thought about it and shrugged nonchalantly. Pulling away from her, he looked into her eyes once again. “Are you… lucid?”

“Just as lucid as you are real.” Clarke replied back. “Are you real?”

Bellamy didn’t know how to answer the question. What did she mean by that? Was that the poison in her system doing the talking? At his silence, Clarke let out a laugh that echoed in the silence. Her eyes focused to something behind him and it took all of his willpower not to turn back to see what she was staring at. Luckily, a shout from outside the tent saved him from asking.

“Wanheda’s warrior, your chosen ones are here!” One of the twelve guards shouted.

“Come in.” Bellamy shouted back, getting up to pace around in front of Clarke waiting for his people to come in. He had expected six to arrive, but when only four entered the tent, Bellamy narrowed his eyes at the noticeably absent members of his team. “Where’s Octavia and Lincoln?”

“They left as soon as you went into the tent,” reported Miller. The concern in his voice was evident, but the words that followed said something different. “Don’t worry, Lincoln and Octavia know what they’re doing.”

Before Bellamy could ask Miller more about the matter, Murphy immediately pushed him away from his pacing path to kneel down in front of Clarke. Monty followed shortly after. After a cursory check on Clarke’s temperature, dilated eyes, and pulse, Monty got up from the floor to face the group with a worried forlorn look on his face. His fidgety fumbling hands gave way to the nervousness in Monty’s stance and Bellamy tensed up.

Murphy made to get up as well, but stopped himself. When Bellamy looked back, he realized why. Clarke, in her semi-lucid semi-hallucinating state, had reached out to Murphy and clasped her hand in his. They stared at each other, dark blue eyes to brown ones. Her once happy delirium-ridden smile gave way to a sad somber one and she let out a sigh of—longing? Sadness? Guilt? Bellamy couldn’t tell.

“ _Aleksa_ ,” whispered Clarke. “ _Yu nomfa laik meizen_.”

Bellamy wasn’t sure what it meant, but whatever Clarke said had Murphy visibly flinching from her touch. He pulled his hand away from hers like it burned and turned to the rest of the group with clenched fists and a tensed body. Besides him, Monty and Raven exchanged glances and eyed Murphy with sad pitying looks on their faces.

“Well?” Murphy asked Monty, his tone brooking no argument. “What’s wrong with her?”  

“ _Natshied_.” Monty replied without missing a beat.

The word was foreign to Miller and Bellamy, but obviously not to Murphy and Raven because they both let out a curse as soon as they heard the word.

“What? What is it?” Miller asked.

“It’s a poison, obviously.” Murphy hissed.

If he could, Bellamy wanted to smack the arrogant bastard.

“Man, you really need to get some manners.” Miller retorted, turning his focus from Murphy back to Monty. “What is it?”

“It’s a poisonous plant. Common symptoms are flushed skin with rashes, dilation of pupils, hallucinations, an—”

“That’s why she was talking to...” Raven’s voice trailed off when Murphy glared at her.

“It causes very powerful life-like hallucinations, yes. But that’s not my main concern. It’s a highly toxic poison. If Clarke doesn’t get an antidote in an hour, she will go into a coma and…” Monty’s voice trailed off but everyone got the gist of it. “You need to find the antidote.”

“You’re a healer,” Miller pointed out. “Don’t you have one?”

“The plant and the antidote do not grow in our lands.”

“Then where?” Bellamy asked, looking at the three Delfikru members. They were worrying their lips in concentration and seemed rather distracted by the very idea of Clarke dying. Knowing that they didn’t have time for such morbid contemplations, Bellamy snapped his fingers and raised his voice. “Where do I find the antidote, Monty?”

“Our enemy, Azgeda.” It was Murphy who replied. “It grows in and around Azgeda. Everyone knows that.”

“Azgeda?” Miller asked, perplexed. “We can’t go to fucking Azgeda for this. It’s hundreds of miles away. We don’t have the time.”

“Queen Nia is here today.” Raven said, her voice but a small whisper in the tent. “She’s Queen of Azgeda.”

“Hang on, hang on…” Bellamy started. He was trying his best to not freak out about this, but Clarke’s muttering incoherently in the background wasn’t helping. “If the poison came from Azgeda, then Azgeda had something to do with this. Queen Nia or whoever the fuck she is won’t give us the antidote so easily. Right?”

“So what, we’re just going to let her die?” Murphy hissed, stepping forward to face Bellamy.

Whatever arguments, shouts, and discontent remarks flying across the room fell and vanished at the sound of Clarke’s sudden crack into hysterical laughter. Her laughter, once usually so beautiful and melodic, was deranged in character and everyone stared at her, uneasiness seeping into their skin. Bellamy took a deep breath and shook his head.

“No, we’re going to save her.” Bellamy replied. “But first, we need to figure out how she was poisoned.”

“I swept her room, guys.” Monty remarked. “I didn’t find anything alarming.”

“Then it was brought in after she got there.” Raven stated definitively before looking around at the group before her. “Who else was in that room?”

“Two servants,” replied Murphy. “Syan chose them.”

“Is Syan trustworthy?” Miller asked.

The very insinuation had Monty and Raven letting out a gasp of anger, but Miller had his eyes on Murphy and the man did not seem shocked at the idea.  

“It was in the tea.” Clarke whispered. Her voice seemed so coherent and clear that Bellamy wasn’t sure if she was hallucinating about drinking tea and wanted to tell them that or if she was actually talking about the matter at hand. A glance at Murphy told him what he needed to know because her words sparked something in him and he let out a curse in Trisgedasleng. “I imbued some tea.”

“I’m surprised you know what imbue means, given your state.” Murphy joked.

“Fuck you, Fifi.” Clarke hissed before bursting out into uncontrollable laughter.

The cacophony of her voice was so out of place given the grave nature of their situation that no one laughed with her.

“Laughter is also a symptom of _natshied_.” Monty added when no one spoke as if that helped with the awkwardness now permeating the tent.  

After a few moments of silence, Miller cleared his throat.

“Whatever we have to do, we need to do it soon.” Miller, Monty, and Raven immediately turned their attention to Bellamy. “She’s supposed to go out there and mingle with you in 2 hours and we’re wasting time here.”

Suddenly, Murphy turned to Monty.

“Is it poisonous in smoke form?” He asked urgently, eyes almost bulging out.

“Yes, the hallucinations are stronger if you smoke it. Why?”

“There was incense.” Murphy’s jaw clenched. “There was incense in the room and no one suspected a thing. I will have Syan’s head for this!”

As soon as Murphy uttered the words ‘incense in the room’, Bellamy’s vision swirled at the sickening realization of something very important. He took a step back and raised his hands to his head, trying his best to remember the way Octavia moved during the ceremony. He had seen her practice with Lincoln hundreds of times since the date of the blood binding was set. Despite the artful coordination of their movements, Octavia was definitely off her game at the very end. Her breathing had been more labored than anticipated from what he could see in the darkness, she looked flushed, and her eyes… Her eyes…

“It was in the incense…” Bellamy echoed, his very own voice calling a chill to pass through his spine. He looked up at the group before him, eyes narrowing, voices shouting, fingers pointing, and let out a small gasp of breath. When they didn’t recognize his panic for what it was, his eyes scanned the room until he found Clarke watching him. Her dark blue eyes stared unblinking into his, reminding him of home back in the Ark where he would entertain his sister with Greek mythology. “My sister was in that room.”

Bellamy turned to look straight at an equally bewildered Miller. His hand immediately went to the radio that’s always on his belt buckle but when his fingers swished through air, he looked down and remembered he didn’t have one. And neither did Octavia. They had removed the radios so they could fit in with the blood binding ceremonial attires.

Bellamy glanced at Clarke, at her dark blue eyes, at the sweat running like rivulets down her face, at the flush of rashes now spreading up her arms, and imagined Octavia suffering through the hallucinations. If Clarke was this bad, how was Octavia holding up? Why didn’t he realize it before? How could he have dismissed her absence so easily? His sister, his responsibility. What the fuck was he doing worrying about Clarke when he should be worrying about his sister? Wher—

“Wanheda’s warrior,” shouted one of the guards outside. Everyone exchanged worried cautious glances. Who was asking for entrance? “Octavia and Lincoln of Skaikru are here.”

The relief was palpable in the room.

“Let them come in!” He shouted back. Without a second thought, Bellamy rushed towards the entrance of the tent. Just as he approached, Lincoln entered arm in arms with a very flushed Octavia. Bellamy let out a quivering sigh of relief and enveloped his sister in a hug, supporting her as she collapsed against him. “Octavia! Octavia, are you okay? Octavia?”

“Shut up, Bell. You’re so loud.” Octavia hissed before joining Clarke on the bed.

As if recognizing the blonde girl, his sister let out a disgusted sound and pushed the woman away. But Clarke let out a giggle that somehow resonated with Octavia and she replied back with a giggle until both of them echoed each other. The picture of the two girls sitting there laughing their ass off—eyes dark as night, skin red as blood, sweat seeping through their skins—was uncanny. If Murphy and Monty were right, though he had no doubts about that, Clarke had been in the room way longer than Octavia was. So why did Octavia looked a lot worse for wear? Was it because she’s been up in the Ark all this time and Clarke was just more resistant to the toxic plant or…

Lincoln’s voice snapped him out of his reverie.

“She wasn’t feeling well so she stepped away for a moment.” Lincoln explained. “When I saw the symptoms, I knew. It’s _natshied_.”

“We know, _natrona_.” Murphy hissed.

“Listen here, you piece of—”

“Stop, stop.” Bellamy shouted, coming in between the two arguing men. “This is no time to fight. We need to find the antidote and fast. Murphy, would you recognize the servants?”

“I see where you’re going with this.” Raven spoke up, nodding her head as Murphy replied in the affirmative to Bellamy’s question. “They were in the room with Clarke, but they weren’t worried about getting sick which means—”

“They have the antidote.” Monty stated.

“Yes.” Bellamy confirmed. “We find them, we find the antidote.”

“And if they don’t have it?” Raven asked.

“Then we make them pay,” growled Murphy. “And I know just the way.”

Bellamy stared at the roguish determination in Murphy’s eyes, unsure of what to make of it, and turned his attention to Raven.

“We find Nia and we demand justice. If we go public with this, she’ll have no choice but to help us. Delfikru is part of the Coalition for fuck’s sakes.”

“Why can’t we do it now?” Miller pointed out. “What’s stopping us? It’ll take less time.”

“Azgeda has been trying to destroy the Coalition for years. If we tell people Clarke was poisoned, it means Lexa’s security measures were lax.”

“They are,” Raven hissed pointedly. It was the first time she had raised her voice.  

“If Lexa can’t even protect her loyal subjects, if the members find out the others do not listen to her commands, they will think her weak. Her position as _heda_ will be unstable. A war will break out and Azgeda will come out stronger than before and we?” Lincoln looked at everyone in the room. “We will go down.”

“Then let’s make sure those servants pay for what they did.” Bellamy said after a moment of silence. Raven, Murphy, Miller, Lincoln, and Monty nodded their heads in agreement. “Lincoln, stay and help the girls. Monty and Raven too. Whatever you can give to help them expel the poison, do it. Miller, radio Wells. Make sure he knows what’s happening. Murphy, it’s going to be you and me.”

He had expected Murphy to argue with the assignments, but no word came out of the man’s mouth in that regards.

“No guns.” Murphy said. Bellamy opened his mouth to argue, but couldn’t even get a word in edgewise. “It’ll be too loud. Everyone will know it was Skaikru.”

“Fine.”

“Plus, I want them to suffer.” Murphy added unnecessarily before kneeling down on the ground to face Clarke. Despite the shaking of her shoulders and her giggles, she looked like she was too far gone to respond. “I will make them answer for what they did to you.”

“We all will,” Bellamy stated with finality. “Alright then, let’s move it people.”

With tasks assigned, Bellamy looked around and grabbed Octavia’s sword. Without a gun, he needs something else to defend himself. This is just as good as any even with his limited experience. As he secured the sword to his side, Bellamy looked at his sister. She seemed to be quiet, which was unlike Octavia, but the deer-caught-in-headlights look on her face told him she was hallucinating about something awful. She wasn’t in physical pain, no. But emotionally? He wasn’t sure. Bellamy leaned forward and gave Octavia a kiss on her forehead before stepping away to face Lincoln. No words were exchanged between the two. It wasn’t needed. They’ve been through so much together that Bellamy had no doubts Lincoln will do everything in his power to keep Octavia safe. He did so before and he will do so now. That’s all that mattered. Bellamy gave Lincoln a nod and the man gave one in return.

Several feet away, Murphy was talking to Monty in hushed voices. They seemed to be arguing about something and Monty looked quite concerned. Bellamy caught eyes with Raven and he raised an eyebrow, gesturing towards the two Delfikru boys. She raised her hand and wiggled her fingers, making him notice the rings on her fingers for the first time. A second later, Monty took out a bag and dumped what looked like a dozen rings into Murphy’s waiting hand. Bellamy didn’t have to ask what the rings were for. He still remembered what happened last time and even had the scars to remind him of it.

Once everything was ready, Bellamy and Murphy looked at each other. With a nod of their heads, they bid good bye to the rest of the team and exited the tent. Outside, the people who witnessed his marriage hurried towards the pyre carrying baskets and trays of vegetables, fruits, and containers brimming with sauce or some kind of liquor. According to Lincoln, the feast that’s supposed to start in 2 hours had to have food cooked in the deep fire of the pyre Clarke and Bellamy lit during the ceremony. He understood the concept when they spoke about it, but to see grounders happily delivering food to the pyre was something else entirely. He has never seen them so… happy and domestic before. It was a bit odd to look at.

“Let’s go to the Tower,” said his companion.

Murphy cocked his head and the two of them made their way to looming tower that was the Commander’s headquarters and the hub for all the ambassadors. In the darkness of the night with only the inferno of the pyre as the light, they made quick work of their trip. No one noticed the recently married Bellamy and Wanheda’s second through the cover of darkness and if they did, they did not mention it. They did their own thing, shouting, drinking, and being merry without a thought about the fragility of the Coalition should anything happen to… No, he shouldn’t be thinking about that. Clarke and Octavia will live. He will make it happen.

The once dark and somber hallways of the tower were now brightly lit and it made their trip up the stairs on the side of the tower easier. The silence was only pierced by their hurried footsteps on the wood and the occasional merry shout from the people down below. They haven’t talked about their plans to find the servants, but Bellamy had most of it figured out. If the _natshied_ were added to the tea and the incense, it stood to reason that the culprits will go back to the scene of the crime when the rest of the group were out celebrating to get rid of the evidence. They were a little bit behind but if they rushed it, they might find the servants before they flee the scene.

They didn’t get far before a distinct sound of a door slamming closed made Bellamy and Murphy pause in their tracks. The silence that followed was deafening as the two of them waited, straining their ears to listen to whatever was going on. Seconds later, the sounds of hissing and hurried footsteps echoed through the stairway. Whoever they were, were they going upstairs or downstairs? And if they were the culprits, shouldn’t their footsteps sound heavier? Were they fleeing without anything to their backs? Did they have back up?

“Kel!” An angry male voice shouted. “ _Em na frag oso op tai mem dig em au_.”

“ _Oso souda set raun ogeda taim oso ne teik Heda daun_ .” A distinct female voice hissed back, equally frustrated. “Don’t worry, John. _Ste yuj._ ”

Their footsteps and the sound of the voices were coming clearer now. They were coming down the stairs. Exchanging a single look, Bellamy and Murphy unsheathed their weapons as quietly as they could and waited. A woman and a man, dressed in dark blue robes with swords swinging at their sides, came into view. As soon as Kel and John saw Bellamy and Murphy, they let out two loud gasps.

“Murphy,” said Kel. It was dimly light on the stairway but Bellamy and Murphy didn’t miss the subtle cautious glance she threw at John. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same,” replied Murphy. “Syan needs all the help he can get if he wants to feed all the people down there.”

“He sent us to get some… salt.” John stated brokenly. Besides him, Kel gave him a bewildered look. If the situation wasn’t so tense with weapons out, Bellamy would have laughed.

“Did he now?” Murphy chuckled. The nonchalance in his voice almost had Bellamy fooled until he saw Murphy tightening the grip on his daggers hidden behind him. “Or did you guys come up here to retrieve _natshied_?”

“ _Natshied_? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kel’s and John’s nervous demeanors said otherwise. Several seconds passed in silence. Then, Kel and John immediately turned around and rushed up the stairs. Murphy quickly followed them, his daggers out and swinging widely. With the tight narrow space of the stairway, Bellamy had no choice but to trail behind Murphy as quickly as he could.

“ _Miya!_ ” Murphy hissed, his angry command reverberating through the stairway.

The four of them raced up the stairs for what seemed to be half a dozen flights of stairs before someone, Kel from the looks of it, opened the doorway to one of the floors and rushed inside. John was right behind her, followed by an enraged Murphy, and Bellamy at the end. Suddenly, Murphy stopped in his tracks and let out a loud ear-piercing whistle. It didn’t work in distracting the two culprits but at least the sound slowed them down due to the unexpectedness. Bellamy slowed to a stop next to Murphy and waited, watching as the man twirled the two daggers in his hands.

A second later, the daggers went flying through the air.

One of the daggers sank right into Kel’s right shoulder. She let out a cry of pain and her hand immediately went to it to cover the wound. The blood proved too much for her hand to keep inside and spurted out. The second dagger whooshed past Kel’s companion to land on the wall at the end of the hall, barely missing John’s head as it flew by him. He let out a grunt and ducked. Bellamy and Murphy immediately rushed forward and the battle began without a single word spoken. As soon as Bellamy and Murphy were within their reach, Kel and John brandished their swords and attacked.

Bellamy easily dodged John’s blade with his broadsword but Murphy didn’t have any weapons and had to dodge Kel’s advance as quickly as he could. Distracted by Murphy’s lack of defense, John’s blade came around again out of nowhere and had almost dealt a blow to Bellamy’s side had he not stepped out of the way a second beforehand. He wavered in his tracks, defending himself as quickly as John could attack, and took several steps back.

John smirked at his retreat.

The confident arrogance of the man brought out a burning anger within Bellamy and he adjusted his stance before going at it again. There was no hesitance to Bellamy’s attack now and each blow he dealt was harsh against their blades. In the end, it was Kel’s cry of pain that distracted Bellamy.

At the sound, he took one quick glance away to see Kel fall to the floor with a harsh thud. It only took a second but it was enough for John’s sword to slash through the flesh on his shoulder. The searing pain snapped Bellamy back to his opponent and he watched as John’s blade pulled away from his shoulder with an awful splatter sound. Before Bellamy knew what was happening, he was swept off his feet. His weapon landed several feet away with a clank.  

“You’re fucking terrible with this!” Bellamy heard Murphy shout before someone leapt over his sprawled body.

A second later, Murphy landed in front of him with his twin daggers at the ready. Just as John and Murphy began their own battle, Bellamy scrambled out of the way, grabbed his sword, and rushed to Kel’s side. Blood wet his shoulder and the material of his attire clung uncomfortably to him. Kel watched him approach, her eyes open but unblinking. Was she dead? Apart from the slowly bleeding wound on the back of her shoulder and a cut here and there, he couldn’t find a mortally fatal wound on her. But then his eyes landed on a ring on her pinky finger and knew she was paralyzed. He had to admit, it was pretty handy to paralyze someone with just push of a ring.

Disregarding the wound on his shoulder, Bellamy began running his hands down Kel’s body, blood staining her attire be damned. He didn’t know what he was searching for but he’ll realize it once he finds it. Her indignant gasp of surprise did not deter him and he continued searching until his fingers felt something odd hidden in her pants pocket. Quickly grabbing the item, Bellamy fished it out to find a pouch full of curled dried leaves. Was this the _natshied_? Yes, they probably used this in the tea and the incense. But what about the antidote? Bellamy searched Kel’s body again, but there wasn’t anything he didn’t already see.

“Where’s the antidote?”

Kel grunted but said nothing in response, a small but noticeable smile on her face as if she somehow found the situation amusing. Bellamy narrowed his eyes and brought his sword into her peripheral vision. She blinked to tell him she saw the blade, but her reticence remained just like Lincoln’s perseverance and Ilian’s stubbornness.

This time, however, there was no Octavia to give Lincoln a peace of mind and definitely no Clarke and a ring to threaten murder on Ilian’s very soul. It was just him and Murphy. They cannot fail. He cannot fail. He must get the information any way necessary. Octavia’s life depended on it. With that in mind, Bellamy slammed his fist on the floor right by Kel’s face, grinning in satisfaction as she let out of a gasp, and leaned close enough to see the curves of her eyelashes.

“Where is the antidote?” Bellamy asked again.

Silence followed his question, broken only by a heavy thud several feet away. Bellamy watched as Murphy dragged John’s conscious but paralyzed body towards them. His daggers were tucked at his side, once again dripping blood down his pants. The man gave no indications he cared.

“She’s still not talking?” Murphy asked, looking around down the hall before turning back to look at the woman in question. “It’s a good thing you went to this floor. It’s almost as if you knew I have a torture chamber here.” To Bellamy, he said: “Come on, let me show you how an interrogation works around here.”

They worked in silence, dragging Kel’s and John’s bodies several yards down the hall. Bellamy didn’t know what Murphy was planning, but it couldn’t be good if the focused intense look in his eyes was any indication. He did say he wanted the people who did this to Clarke to suffer and Bellamy had no doubts of this. His obsession with Clarke was unsettling at best and he wanted to address it somehow.

But this seemed like an inappropriate time to bring up the subject, especially not when there are more important matters to talk about. Like whether or not he would be okay with Murphy’s definition of an interrogation after what he had seen with Clarke and Ilian. Clarke was nothing like Murphy. She was restrained and calculative, doing what was only necessary and nothing more. Murphy on the other hand was hot tempered, rash, and had severe anger issues. He would cross any lines if it meant he could save Clarke. What was he planning in that head of his and… Can Bellamy go with it? Bellamy wasn’t sure. His sister’s life was in his hands. He wasn’t sure of anything.

The torture chamber Murphy spoke of was pretty barren except for heavy duty thick ropes hanging down from the ceiling underneath a raised concrete platform. It reached the eye level of the only chair in the room stationed right at the head of the platform. A wooden cabinet stood in the back of the room, one of the doors barely holding on to its hinges. A big bundle of rope pooled on the floor next to the chair and Murphy threw it at Bellamy.

“Tie her up,” he instructed without so much as a glance at him.

Murphy pulled John up onto the platform by his arm, not minding the way the man’s head and body slammed against the roughness of the floor and the sharp edges of the platform. Bellamy watched Murphy for a few seconds, unsure of what to make of Murphy’s treatment of their prisoner, but turned to the task at hand. He tied the female prisoner up in a sitting position in silence.

Kel’s eyes, fluttering back and forth between Bellamy and what was happening behind him, were glazed with panic. Had she not been paralyzed, she would have done her best to thrash against her bounds. But she was and so she sat there, unable to move and unable to remove herself from the situation she found herself in. A part of Bellamy pitied her, but then he remembered Octavia’s unsettling laugh and his pity disappeared. He clenched his jaw and tightened the last knot in the rope harsher than necessary.

“What do you know about funeral rites here on the ground, Bellamy?” Murphy asked.

Somehow in the few seconds it took for Bellamy to tie up Kel, Murphy had successfully pulled John’s body up face side down onto the raised platform. The arm he had used to pull John up hung over the edge of the platform, the angle a bit too sharp for an arm to have. Blood was dripping. Where was it coming from?

Without tearing his eyes from Murphy, Bellamy got up from the floor and walked forward as Murphy pulled one of the thick ropes hanging from the ceiling down. He flipped the big hook tied to the end of the rope and methodically—without so much as a flinch—punctured John’s left ankle with the hook. As Bellamy made his way closer, he could see that John’s other ankle, the skin of his upper arms, and both of his wrists were already hooked up. Literally. Blood crept out of open wounds and John laid there, eyes wide open with fear. He had witnessed Murphy’s defiling of his body but he was unable to feel it and unable to do anything about it.

“Nothing.” Bellamy replied, unable to tear his eyes from John’s pleading ones.

“Nothing?” Murphy chuckled, his attention focused on batting away the blood that had spurted onto his arms. “Surely Lincoln must have told you after all the people you killed.”

Murphy paused to inspect his handling of John’s paralyzed body and gave a quick nod of approval. What was he doing? The horror that slowly crept through Bellamy’s body was something he couldn’t quite explain. It was one thing to see the doctors at Mount Weather doing this to the grounders and to him, but it was something completely different to see Murphy, his newly wedded wife’s most trusted warrior and friend, torturing this man. The conflict inside of Bellamy only intensified further as he watched Murphy make his way to the back wall where the cabinet stood. The man fidgeted with something behind the cabinet for a few seconds before—

 _Snap_!

John’s body suddenly pulled itself from the platform it was laying on to hover a feet up in the air like a puppet on strings. Or in this case, a body hooked to ropes hanging from the ceiling.   Blood slowly dripped onto the platform, the _plip plop_ of the drops echoing in the silent room. John let out a small scream of pain, his dark brown eyes blown wide open with terror as his skin, stretched taut by the hooks all over his body began to bruise. Behind Bellamy, Kel let out an unfamiliar sound—something between a gasp and a moan of horror. Did the effects of the paralyzing plant wear  off? Was he in pain? Or was he just screaming because he was suspended in the air by his very skin and could do nothing about it?

“If you spend enough time with Indra, you’ll know that Trikru burns their dead.” Murphy went on as if nothing had happened. As if he didn’t just pull John’s body up like a piece of meat needing to dry. As if John wasn’t a person. Sweat began to wet Bellamy’s forehead as he looked onward, unable to say anything at the sudden turn of events. He could only watch as Murphy fished out a ring from his pocket and delicately put it on one of John’s finger, pressing onto the gem. “Trikru burn their dead because they don’t want anyone else to defile the bodies. Now, they might say something about ‘from the ashes we rise’ and all that shit but I know better.”

The dangerous look oh Murphy’s usually grumpy face was one Bellamy couldn’t really place and he took a deep breath before asking:

“What did you just give him?”

“Something to make him feel what I’m about to do to him.”

Murphy settled himself ever so confidently on the chair in front of the platform. In that position, John’s face hovered several inches from Murphy’s. He pulled out the daggers from its scabbards and began cleaning them, switching between slapping the twin blades on the curve of John’s shoulders and brushing them across the man’s bare forehead. Occasionally, the blades drew blood but John did not react to it and therefore was still under the effects of the paralyzing plant.

Nothing happened for one full minute.

But as soon as it reached 60 seconds, Murphy brushed one of his daggers across John’s face, pressing down harder this time around, and John visibly flinched at the attack. His eyes widened in its sockets and he turned his attention from the floor up to Murphy. The man in question had been watching the signs of John’s re-emerging pain threshold and he let out a guttural laugh that echoed in the stagnant room at John’s reaction.

“You’ve been awfully quiet.” Murphy whispered. “Do you want to tell him what Delfikru do to their dead or should I?”

“Let me go.” John commanded, flailing pathetically against the hooks that tethered him to the hanging ropes. His efforts were useless because he hooks only dug deeper into his skin and he let out a whimper of pain. “Let me go. Now.”

“Kel?” Murphy asked with a jerk of his head. Behind Murphy, Kel said nothing. “Give this to her.”

Murphy dug into his pocket and fished something out. Bellamy caught the ring thrown at him and took a quick glance to notice the purple gem of the ring before walking over to where Kel sat. Unable to move, Kel could do nothing but watch as Bellamy put the ring on her finger and pressed on the gem. The compartment inside the gem collapsed and whatever was in the ring flowed through her system. They waited a full minute and just like John, Kel began squirming as soon as she could move her body.

“Let me go, you stupid fuck!” Kel shouted.

“What does Delfikru do to their dead, Kel?” Murphy asked, disregarding the foul retort.

“We…” Kel looked at John’s floating body for a split second before turning back to stare at Murphy. “We tak--”

“We take out their organs, one by one, wrap them in leaves, and take them out to sea.” Murphy finished Kel’s sentence and turned back to John. “But you’re not a faithful Delfikru, are you John? You’re a traitor and I do things differently for people like you. Unless, of course, you tell me where to find the antidote.”

“I can’t.” John replied immediately, panicked beady eyes watching Murphy’s every move.

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“I—”

“ _Ste yuj_ , John.” Kel hissed. At her words, John snapped his mouth shut and looked down at the blood dripping onto the platform. A line of blood trailed down the right side of his face. To Murphy, she said: “We no longer think Clarke is the rightful ruler of Delfikru. She is no longer fit to hold the title. We demand a change and we will make it happen.”

“Ah yes, what was that you said?” Murphy asked. “We must stand together if we hope to overthrow the heda? Bold words, those. Stupid, but bold.”

Politics.

It was always about the fucking politics. Somewhere down there, his sister was suffering in pain. His sister needed his help and he will do everything in his power to make sure she gets it. Political bull fuckery between factions and people be damned. Bellamy took one look at Kel’s squirming form on the floor, Murphy sitting with his feet perched up on the platform, John’s body hovering over him, and glanced down at the watch on his wrist. 20 minutes have passed. Did Murphy know? Or was he enjoying himself too much with this intimidation torture crap?  

“Enough of this shit.” Bellamy said, pulling away from the wall he was hiding besides to approach Murphy. As he neared, Murphy stood up. “We don’t have time for this. Either shut the fuck up and get the antidote or I will. Octavia and Clarke need us. _Now_.”

“Ah, right. The antidote. I almost forgot.”

Murphy chuckled, his nonchalant laugh reminiscent of Clarke’s drug induced ones. Bellamy narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to reprimand the man but the words vanished into thin air as Murphy, without so much as a warning, twirled one of the daggers in his hand and jabbed the blade right into John’s left forearm. The scream came just as blood spurted out like water freed from a dam and covered the length of Murphy’s arm. Bellamy couldn’t help the gasp that escaped from his mouth as he stared at the blood pouring from John’s open wound, every movement defined by subtle flashes of porcelain white bone to emphasize how deep Murphy cut. John’s body twitched violently, subdued only by the hooks tethered to his skin.

“What are you doing?” Bellamy shouted.

“Oh my god…” Kel gasped. “Stay strong, John. Remember the cause!”

John cried out, the agony clear in his voice as he whimpered over and over again. A quick glance at Kel and Bellamy could see she was nowhere near as calm as she sounded if the shivers of her body were any indications. Heck, Bellamy wasn’t calm at all and he wasn’t being tortured at the moment.

“I know you’re trying to overthrow the Commander and normally you can do whatever the hell you want. I wouldn’t give a damn.” Murphy hissed into John’s ear. The blade that tore John’s arm open hovered threateningly just inches from the man’s face. “But hurting Wanheda? That’s where you’ve fucked up. Now tell me where the antidote is or I will slowly remove _every_ bone in your body and bury it near Mount Weather so you’ll never have your peace.”

With those words, Murphy threw his dagger onto the platform and reached into John’s open wound with his fingers, igniting another string of terrified screams. Given the deep wound, it didn’t take Murphy long to grab onto the bone in John’s upper left arm and as soon as his fingers took hold, he pulled. Hard. Bellamy flinched at the harsh sounds. The muffled scream John let out when Murphy stabbed him was nothing compared the terrified sound he made as bone, cartilage, and tendons were pulled straight from his body with nimble searching fingers. There was so much blood that it enveloped Murphy where he stood and pooled down to the floor beneath him like a river. When the bone didn’t give like Murphy had expected, he took his other dagger to the socket and stabbed it repeatedly.

Seconds later, the shaft of John’s femur bone skidded across the platform and fell into the pool of blood down below. Cartilage and flesh clung to the pristine white bone. John never stopped screaming. The bone landed right in front of Kel’s prostrating form.

Bellamy didn’t know what he was expecting. He didn’t know what Murphy had planned when they dragged John and Kel into this room, but he did not expect this. This… This was… This was worse than Lincoln’s torture or Ilian’s interrogation. This was… This reminded him of Mount Weather all over again. He had stood there what seemed like only yesterday watching Dante and his team of doctors saw into his friends for bone marrow with no way to stop them.

The sickening horror he felt as he heard their screams… The people he blamed… The ache that seeped into his bones… This was just like Mount Weather. Only… Bellamy took a few steps back, watching the scene unfold in front of him with… Anger? Confusion? Horror? It was in this moment that he realized who he had become. He was the perpetrator now. He had just stood there and watched as Murphy took out John’s bone and did _nothing_. He was the perpetrator now and not the victim. The thought… The thought was…

“Tell me where the antidote is, John!” Murphy shouted.

The sound of John’s desperate whimper pulled Bellamy back from his horrified daze and he could only stand there and watch as the sound grew ever so louder. Murphy was brandishing his daggers right in front of John’s face again, the blades dripping with warm blood.

“Murphy,” Bellamy whispered quietly.

His voice trailed off.

Bellamy was unsure of what to say. What could he say in this situation? Since when did his breaths get so heavy and short? Bellamy swiped the sweat off his face with his hands and made a grab for Murphy but the man easily pushed him out of the way, swinging the daggers in his hands like a mad man in search of power. The sudden calmness that came over Murphy at Bellamy’s uttering his name was almost instantaneous and the man turned to look at him with wide eyes. He lowered his dagger just slightly and blinked. Two drops of blood fell from his lashes down his face.

“What?” Murphy hissed threateningly.

The pregnant pause was aching in its silence.

“We… we should think about this.” Bellamy said carefully, straightening where he stood. “Think about what you’re doing.”

“What?” Murphy asked. The hoarseness of his voice was haunting in its hollowness. “What is there to think about?”

Bellamy looked at John’s whimpering body before glancing back at Murphy.

“Look, I want to find the antidote as much as you do but he’s going to bleed out if you don’t stop.”

“I don’t care.” Murphy retorted quickly. “I think you forget the situation we’re in, Bellamy of Skaikru. Do you know what _natshied_ does to people like your sister? Did Monty tell you?" A pause. "Oh. Oh! Are you still playing the good guy?”

“What?”

“Your sister is dying and you still want to play the good guy.” Murphy broke into laughter, the cacophony of his out of place laugh brought an eerie silence to the room. Bellamy clenched his fists. “No wonder Clarke had to help you at Mount Weather. You were too weak to do what needed to be done for your people. It’s been months, Bellamy. I thought for sure you would have toughened up by now. But here we are again, you wanting to be the good guy and me trying to save your sister like Clarke tried to save your people. How long will this go on?”

Bellamy clenched his jaw, biting the inside of his mouth to keep himself from shouting out in anger. How dare he? How dare Murphy stand there and insult his ability to keep his people safe? He has done so many things since they landed on the ground months ago. He killed hundreds of people for the group he came with and many more for those who came after them. He did his part. Murphy knew nothing about his abilities. And yet…

Did Bellamy do enough? If he hadn’t destroyed the radio… the culling wouldn’t have happened. He could have saved more if he wasn’t afraid of dying because of his mistakes. He could have… He could done more and yet he didn’t. And his sister… his dear dear sister was poisoned because of him. He should have been watching her. His sister, his responsibility. So why didn’t he? Was Murphy right? Was he weak? Unable to shake the sudden doubts but unwilling to give in to Murphy’s goading, Bellamy cleared his throat and stated:

“He cannot give you what you want if he’s dead. If anything happens to my sister because of your crazy ant—”

“Then help me.”

The statement was nothing more than that—a statement. But the look in Murphy’s eyes told him it was more than a statement. It was a request and when Murphy’s hand fell forward as a sign of offering, the gesture solidified his request. He wanted Bellamy to help him? With what? Bellamy took a look at John’s hanging body, at Kel’s sudden fall into silence, and then back at Murphy. Murphy gestured towards the bloody dagger in his hand once again, an eyebrow quirked up in question.

“No.” Bellamy replied. “I… I can’t. Just do what you have to do but I…” Flashes of blood and screaming bombarded Bellamy’s mind and he flinched at the noise echoing in his head. How many of people had suffered while he stood there, his hand on the lever, unable to pull it? How many people died because… Bellamy gulped. “I can’t.”

“It starts out pretty easy enough,” started Murphy. Bellamy looked at him, taking a step back as Murphy took a step towards him. “First, she would notice some dry mouth and feel a bit flushed. Nothing too alarming. She’ll find herself unable to swallow, but that’s normal sometimes right? Then, her breathing starts to fasten, faster than it’s ever been before, and that’s when the hallucinations come in. You’ve never had a _natshied_ induced hallucination, but I have and let me tell you, they’re _horrible_.”

“Shut up, Murphy.” Bellamy warned quietly, putting a hand on the hilt of the sword hanging at his side. He glanced down at the watch on his wrist. 10 minutes have passed and they were getting nowhere with the antidote. Thoughts came unbidden to Bellamy’s mind and he couldn’t help but imagine his sister sitting there laughing her ass off without a care in the world. If he didn’t do something quick, he’ll never hear her laugh again. “Stop talking. We don’t have time for this.”

But Murphy wasn’t listening.

“What she knows as her reality will start to shift and the things she’ll see, Bellamy… It’ll make her wonder if she should even be alive. As soon as she gives into those hallucinations, the paralysis will have already set in.”

“Shut up…” Bellamy whispered, snapping his eyes shut to drown out Murphy’s antagonizing voice. But that was a mistake. As soon as he closed his eyes, Murphy’s voice got louder and louder until the raspiness of his voice drowned out John’s desperate incoherent mutters and Kel’s silent cry. Murphy’s voice was the only thing Bellamy could hear and the words that came out of the man’s mouth and what it did to Bellamy was... “Shut up, Murphy. Shut up.”

“It won’t take long before your sister falls into a coma and then...” Murphy laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “Well, you know how it is with poisons. People fall victim to them and die. Is that what you really wa—”

“Shut up!” Bellamy yelled out. He opened his eyes and set his eyes on Murphy with a steely glare. “Octavia will not die!”

“Then do something about it!” Murphy hissed back. He flipped the dagger he was holding and handed the weapon, hilt first, to Bellamy. “Take this and do what you need to do to save your sister.” A pause. “You want to save her, don’t you?”

Bellamy stared at the blade offered to him. It was bloody from the tip of the blade to the hilt of the dagger and he wondered briefly if it was still warm from being in John’s arm for so long. But that was not important right now. Taking a deep breath and straightening his stance, Bellamy grabbed the proffered dagger and turned away from John’s floating body, Murphy’s smiling face, and looked down at Kel. She let out a yelp when she found herself having Bellamy’s attention and tried to back up but all she did was wiggle ineffectively in her spot.

“W-What are you doing?” Kel asked, her voice broken with fear. Her eyes flickered from the dagger in his hand Bellamy’s face.

Ignoring the woman’s questioning glance and words, Bellamy made his way to her side and knelt down in front of her. The dagger hovered just inches from her neck. They were so close to one another he could feel her breath tickling his shoulder. For a brief moment, Bellamy wondered if he was going too far. But the doubts in his mind dissipated at the image of his sister succumbing to the _natshied_ hallucinations, unable to move, unable to speak, just staring at him with her scared wide eyes. Whatever he needed to do, he will do it. For her. He tried to kill Jaha for her. He would have killed Lincoln for her. He killed hundreds and hundreds of people to keep her safe. What’s another one in the grand scheme of things?

“Please tell me,” pleaded Bellamy. He looked down at Kel’s face, watching the fear in her eyes, and gulped. Tears blurred his vision. “Please tell me where the antidote is, Kel.”

The silent pause had made Bellamy hopeful because he thought she was really contemplating the idea of giving away the secret. But then, she opened her mouth and uttered a single word:

“No.”

Bellamy snapped then.

As soon as Kel opened her mouth to form that refusal, Bellamy slammed the waiting dagger right into the curve of her left clavicle. Blood poured from the wound, just as John’s wound had, and the multiple crunches that followed as Bellamy pulled on the blade repeatedly suggested he had just detached her clavicle bone from the shoulder socket. It was harder than Murphy made it seem but it was so _satisfying_. The screams that ignited, coupled with John’s softened whimpers of desperation, echoed in Bellamy’s mind. As he dug into her with the blade, blood ran down her body like a waterfall and spread through the floor mingling and mixing perfectly with John’s own pool of blood. There was so much blood and screaming… Bellamy couldn’t take the screaming.

“Tell us where the antidote is!” Murphy shouted, trying but failing to drown out the screams of Bellamy’s victim.

Unable to handle Kel’s and John’s silence, Bellamy extracted the dagger from the depths of Kel’s shoulder and stumbled away from her bleeding body. He was probably a sight to behold—dagger dripping, attire drenched, and face painted with the color of red. He probably looked as deranged as he felt and Bellamy couldn’t help but burst into hysterical laughter at the thought.

“Only one person can walk out of here today!” Bellamy shouted, his focus switching from Murphy’s victim to his own victim. John was wailing, struggling against the hooks that held him up. The more he tugged at ropes, the more the hooks dug into his skin. Kel wept where she huddled on the floor, her clavicle clearly detached from the socket of her shoulder. The bloody bone haunted him as it moved along with Kel’s struggle. And Murphy… He stood there, watching him. At one point, Bellamy would have been irked by his watchful eye. But now... “Who is it going to be? Who is going to tell me where the antidote is? There’s plenty more torture where that came from, right Murphy?”

From the corner of his eyes, he could see Murphy nodding his head in agreement.

“Please…” John groaned. “I—”

“Tell me where the antidote is!” Bellamy shouted again, his harsh guttural voice drowning out John’s and Kel’s desperate pleas and groans of pain. “ **Tell. Me**.”

“I don’t kno—”

“I’ll tell you!” Kel gasped out.

John and Kel, blood dripping down their bodies, looked at one another. The utter sense of betrayal on John’s face was clearly juxtaposed with Kel’s fearful white face and silence met them.

“No!” He wailed angrily, drowning out Murphy’s sudden break into sinister laugh. “No! We are strong, Kel! Clarke will die as we had planned and the rightful ruler will take her place.”

“I will not die without any bones in my body!” Kel screeched back desperately, her voice breaking ever so slightly. “I want to be taken out to sea! _I belong to the sea!_ ”

“Think of the cau—”

Whatever John planned to say fell to deaf ears. A slash of Murphy’s dagger to the throat ensured that John would never speak again. Suspended in the air like that, he didn’t stand a chance. Kel and Bellamy turned to look at Murphy at the sound of the blade. The man was standing there next to John’s spazzing body with a waterfall of blood just rushing out of the dead man’s neck, looking victorious and angry and satisfied all at once.

The silence that followed was deafening. The three of them, left speechless and wearied from the bloody aftermath, stared at one another. No one moved. No one spoke. The only sound that reverberated in the room was John’s blood continually splashing down the platform beneath him and onto the floor.

“No…” Kel gasped quietly. Her breaths were coming in pants, as if she was having trouble breathing with her fractured clavicle bone protruding out from her shoulder, and she let out a wail of anguish at the realization of what had been done. “No!”

“Where is the antidote, Kel?” Murphy asked calmly.

“What?” She asked, unable to tear her eyes away from John’s hanging body.

“Where is the antidote?” Murphy repeated his question.

At the question, Kel lowered her gaze to her right arm. Bellamy’s eyes followed and he couldn’t help but notice the brown beaded bracelet on her wrist. He narrowed his eyes and made a move towards her, collapsing down to kneel in front of the pool of blood around her to reach for the bracelet. Was this it? The bracelet was the answer? Or was he in too much of a shock to think clearly?

With shaking hands, Bellamy removed the bracelet from Kel’s wrist and held it in the air. This can’t be it. It’s just a bracelet. He was going out of his mind if he really thinks this is the answer. John’s scream echoed in his head, whispering and shouting at him, and Bellamy groaned at the noise. His vision swirled as he turned to look at Murphy. The man snatched the bracelet from Bellamy’s hand and sniffed at it.

The sight of his hand, stained red with viscous blood, sniffing the bracelet was nauseating. A loud smack of blade against a hard surface snapped Bellamy out of his nauseous state and he turned to watch Murphy sniffing what appeared to be white powder. A closer inspection told him Murphy had removed the beads from the bracelet and crushed one of them on the platform with the butt of his dagger, no doubt still warm from being inside John’s throat.

“Well?” Bellamy asked hoarsely.

“This is it.” With that said, Murphy gathered the rest of the beads and put it in a pouch, tucking it into his pants pocket. He made a move towards the door but then stopped when he noticed Bellamy was still on the floor. “What are you doing, let’s go!”

“Wait, you’re just going to leave me here?” Kel asked.

The panic in her voice was clear to hear. Bellamy looked at Murphy, wanting to know the same question. He made a promise to Kel and killed John just so she would keep her end of the bargain. The least he could do is let her go. Right…? Or was that wrong? Bellamy couldn’t… he didn’t know what was right and what was wrong anymore and the more he sat there in Kel’s and John’s blood, the more confused he became. Suddenly, everything became too much and the contents of his stomach spilled from his lips. When he thought he was done, the sight of his sick and the pool of blood it was swimming in made Bellamy retch again.

Everything else after that was a blur.

Bellamy didn’t know when they left the torture room or how they left it. Did they cut down John’s body or did they leave it up to hang like that, suspended by the hooks dug deep in his bruised dead skin? Was Kel alive when they left or did Murphy kill her in cold blood like he did John? Bellamy couldn’t say. One moment he was retching his intestines out and the next he was bombarded with whispers, questions, and searching hands.

“Bellamy?”

“Are you injured anywhere?”

“What happened?”

“Bellamy?”

“Shut up!” Murphy shouted, his voice drowning out all of the questions.

Bellamy snapped out of his daze at the loud noise and found himself back in the tent, surrounded by Miller, Lincoln, Raven, and Monty. When did he get here? How did he get here? Never mind that. They got the antidote right? His sister needed the antidote. He had just stabbed a woman in cold blood to get it. Octavia needed the antidote.

“Where’s my sister?” Bellamy asked, trying his best to keep the franticness from seeping through the cracks of his voice.

He looked around the room and found her sitting on the bed like when he had left her, but unlike the weak paralyzed Octavia from his vision she was calmly drinking a cup of water and smiling at Lincoln who sat next to her. Clarke sat on Octavia’s other side and was drinking from an identical cup of water. Good. They got the antidote. They will be okay. That’s…

Flashes of John’s and Kel’s face came unbidden into Bellamy’s head and he tore his eyes from the two girls to look down at his hands. They were stained with blood. Why are they always stained with blood? What had he done in his past life to deserve this? Trying to keep as calm as possible given the circumstances, Bellamy turned away and walked towards the back of the tent where he could see a basin of water. He ignored the hustle and bustle around him and began washing the blood off his hands.

A second later, Murphy joined him. They worked in silence, the once clear water running crimson as they washed their hands. Bellamy tried his best to get rid of it. Of course he did. But the awful stench of iron lingered inside his nose, on his skin, and on his clothes as if there were layers upon layers of it. For all he knew, there were layers. How many people has he killed in the last several months since he landed on Earth? How many Grounders and how many more of his people died because of these hands? No matter what he did and what choices he made, blood will always wet his hands. Bellamy couldn’t get away from it.

“You did a good job,” said Murphy unexpectedly.

Bellamy tore his eyes from the redness coloring his hands and turned to look at Clarke’s second. Dry blood caked Murphy’s otherwise white face in splashes and the presence of the blood emphasized the crazy look in his eyes even more so than ever before. While Bellamy felt sick to his stomach, Murphy looked exhilarated after what he had done. For a moment, Bellamy wondered what he had signed himself up to marrying Clarke of Delfikru and by extension her entire clan, Murphy included. But then he remembered who Clarke was, at least what he knew of her, and the compassion she has given his people—to him—and Bellamy’s heart settled where it beat. Clarke would never approve of Murphy’s method of interrogation if she knew.

“Did you kill her?” Bellamy asked, glancing around to make sure no one heard him.

“Yes.” Murphy returned to washing his hands, carefully digging the dried blood stuck under his nails. He did not look at Bellamy as he continued to speak in a matter-of-fact way. “She will never put Clarke’s life at risk again.”

“Was it... worth the blood on your hands?”

Bellamy could still remember the warm blood trickling down his skin and he was suddenly all nauseous again.

“What about you?” Murphy jerked his head towards Octavia. “Was getting your hands dirty for that girl worth it?”

“She’s my sister,” answered Bellamy.

“And Clarke is the Wanheda.” Glancing around the tent to check if anyone was listening in, Murphy took a step and leaned forward so his lips almost touched Bellamy’s ear. “Clarke killed my parents.”

He had suspected Murphy was the one who killed Clarke’s father when she first told him her story. But to hear Murphy divulge this fact was unexpected. He took a step back and looked at Murphy, unsure of why he had just told him this.

“What?”

Unfazed by his surprise, Murphy continued:

“When this is all over, I will kill her. Until I am ready, no one touches the Wanheda. _No one_. Not even you. You’ll do well to remember that, Bellamy of Skaikru.”

Then, without so much as a by your leave, Murphy turned and walked away from Bellamy to take his place by Clarke’s side. The gentleness in which he brushed some stray blonde hair away from Clarke’s face was reminiscent of that a lover caring for his loved one, but the words he had exchanged with Bellamy said otherwise. The memory of Murphy’s fingers digging into John’s flesh, juxtapositioned with Murphy’s fingers brushing against Clarke’s flushed face, made Bellamy nauseous once again.

Before he could retch all over himself, Bellamy rushed out of the tent and ran to the side, ignoring the questioning looks of the guards standing at the entrance. He thought he had expelled everything and anything from his stomach but that was not true. When it was over and he didn’t have another drop of bile to vomit out, Bellamy brushed his lips and cleared his throat before making his way back to the tent.

This was going to be a very long night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was very difficult to write. It was very difficult to depict Bellamy's sudden descent into madness and even harder still to convey the tension in that part. I almost wondered if it was necessary, but by that point I was already 3/4 done so I just had to continue on to the end.
> 
> Let me know what you thought of this chapter. Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrates it!


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